Wasteland Perspectives
by CalliopeSpeaks88
Summary: A series of drabbles set in the Fallout3 universe. Warning: increase in radiation levels may occur from reading this story. Just kidding or am I? *Wink wink nudge nudge.*
1. Just a Girl

*** Okay this isn't going to be a typical chapter by chapter story. It'll just be a series of one-shots during the game from the viewpoints of different characters. With that announcement out of the way, I can now say how I am **_**not **_**the owner of Fallout 3. Sadly, I did not create the fallout universe or its characters, I just like to play in it. ;) Now please read on and feel free to review. **

***************

I was never anyone important. Just a girl, living in a vault with her dad. That's it. That was all I ever knew. Sure, good ol' Vault 101 wasn't the best place in the world, but at least it was safe. . .I never appreciated that until now.

God, I didn't have a clue as to how unforgiving the world outside could be. The Capital Wasteland is such a harsh place to eek out any kind of existence. Around every corner there is always the possibility of a fight----and of death. It's like everyone wants a piece of you; nothing is for free. Food, water, supplies, information, and even friendship comes at a price. The mentality of the wastes is, "I'll scratch your back if (and only if) you'll scratch mine."

It's kinda ironic really. I mean, the whole time I was sealed away inside 101 I wanted out; now that I'm out, all I want is to go back in.

Still, at least I don't have to see the Overseer's butt ugly face anymore. Even before my father left, I could never stomach the vault's overseer or all of his stupid rules. Sure, the man might have been my best friend's father, but it sure as hell didn't excuse his totalintarianism "obey me" behavior.

He was (no still is) a douche bag; there is no changing an asshole like that. . .they only get douchier. Case in point: When my dad flew the coop Amata's went apeshit crazy. He killed Jonas (my father's lab assistant and close family friend) then tried to kill me. Hell, he even tried to beat his daughter senseless while searching for me! I ask you, who does that but a complete and utter psycho? Not even the Vault's resident bully Butch Deloria would go that far. . . .In fact, Butch is a pussycat compared to half the people I've encountered since that night. He even gave me his tunnel snake jacket for saving his mom from radroaches.

Now, here I am, on the outside looking for the one person I have left in the world: my dad. I'll do whatever it takes to find him. I mean, he's all I have. No mother. No friends. Nothing. Just the reputation of being that kid from Vault 101, a "hero" of the wastes, but I'm no hero. I'm just a girl, living in the wasteland, trying to find her father. That's it. That's all I am or ever will be: A daughter searching for her father.

***Hey, jetflight girl I changed nihilistic to totalintarianism. You were right, it works way better in describing Amata's father. Thanks.**


	2. Gone, Baby, Gone

Gone. She's on the outside now. Lil' girl raisin' some hell. . . . Wish that's what I was doin'; instead, I'm stuck in this goddamn vault.

Shit. I still can't get over how she was the first to fucking leave! It's always the quiet ones that surprise you, but Christ why wasn't it me? I mean, fuck it should've been; the tunnel snakes should've been the ones to jump ship. Not her. . . .Fuck. Who am I kidding? I couldn't even save my ma from those fucking freak bugs.

I stood there like some scared snot nosed kid crying my damn eyes out. Yeah, I'm real fucking tough; a real fucking idiot's more like it. Shit, Gemma must think I'm the biggest pussy ever.

For all of my boasting, I couldn't deliver the goods. Christ, I can't believe myself! Big Butch, Leader of the Tunnel Snakes, balling his eyes out because he wants his mamma, but he can't save her 'cause he's scared of some oversized roaches. Well, it wasn't all so bad. . .at least I gave Gemma my jacket.

Shit. I just can't believe I miss that mouse so much. I thought being rid of her would give me some relief or something. I mean, she made me feel so damn weird all the time. It was like I felt this heat, this fire, dancing in the pit of my stomach whenever I was close to her; it drove me mad as hell.

I dunno know why I should even give two shits. The bitch is gone. . .It's just, I used to think I didn't like her 'cause of how she made me feel, but now I'm thinking she wasn't so bad.

Fuck. I need more whiskey in my glass. Like mother like son, I guess. Shit. Gemma's probably dead somewhere. Where's the fucking whiskey at? Goddammit, I bet ma drank the other bottle. Crap-fucking-tastic. Shit, if Gemma were here I'd be pestering her, and she'd be saying something smart like always.

Goddammit! What the hell am I supposed to do now, huh? Nothings the same since she left. Nothing. If only I was there with her raisin' hell too. We could spread the word of the tunnel snakes, and make those punks fear our names. Fuck yeah. . . But she ain't here and I ain't out there. . . .I'm still just some stupid ass vaultie. A snake with no where to fucking slither to. Shit! I need some more goddamn whiskey 'cause I hate thinking too much; in fact, I'm gonna drink so much that I won't be able to form one single fucking thought (least of all, one about her).


	3. Haunted

Searching through the wreckage of Project Purity, I came across an old recording of better days long since gone by. On it, I heard her voice again; it sent shivers down my spine. Hearing Catherine's zeal for the project (even her laughter) was almost more than I could bear. I cannot, I _will_ not fail Catherine now, not after all these years---I'm tired of being haunted by her ghost.

Such other-worldly visits from one's dead soul mate can drive even the most grounded man mad with grief. . .I know, for I've felt my sanity ripped away whenever the evening would come, and my love would visit me.

I would be lying in bed and as soon as I shut my eyes I would awaken in another place where _hers _would be staring back at me. In her delicate hands she would be holding her favorite bible verse; the one I know by heart. Then all would become still and silent.

What would feel like an age would pass between us; her eyes forever locked on mine.

When at last Catherine spoke, she'd say, "Read this," and from her hands I would take that verse I knew all too well. I would recite these words in a whisper, as if I were praying to God, then I would weep.

Falling onto my knees with despair I'd beg her forgiveness, knowing all the while her answer----which was always no. " Nothing will be forgiven. Only once you have completed what has been forgotten will I ever accept your apologies," utters my sweet girl and then in a flash of white light she leaves me.

Standing beside the bed we used to share I softly say," I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely," and, as in my dreams, I weep.

I wept for Catherine. I wept for our daughter. I wept for the people of the wastes. I even wept for myself. Oh, God, this time I cannot fail her! I must finish what was started all those years ago. I must give unto him that is athirst; I must give unto him for the love of her, my dearest Catherine. I must. . .or she and I will never be at peace.


	4. Living On a Prayer

It's so hot out here. I swear I can feel myself melting in a pool of my own sweat. God, if only there was an easier way to traverse this wasteland than by walking. Shit. What I wouldn't give for some ice cold water. . . .

I swear my throat is on fire. I'm even tempted to risk radiation poisoning by just cannon-balling into the murky Potomac. At least I'm not stuck in my 101 duds anymore; that jumpsuit would act like a friggin' oven, cooking me from the inside out.

Huh. I wonder how long I've been out here anyway? Seems like decades, but I think it's only been twenty-five days or so. Hmmm. . .Only twenty-five days? It can't be. Fuck. Whatever. Time means nothing I suppose. . . No, scratch that, it means everything.

It counts down how long it's been since I've had honest to God _clean_ water. It keeps tabs on how long it's been since I was banished from the only home I've ever known. Oh, (and let's not forget) how it counts down how many suns have set and risen since I've seen my father.

On the Brightside, I am closer to finding him.

Thanks to that Irish prick Moriarty, I have discovered that my dad-o was hell bent on visiting Three Dog, that phantom from the radio. I hope he made it there. I'd rather not learn that Moriarty has sent me on some stupid wild goose chase. That guy is definitely the type who gets off on screwing with people. I just wish he was the only creep like that out here----He's not though. Moriarty is simply one of many assholes that reside out her in "Capital Shit-hole."

God, it's starting to get hard to breathe and I feel so damn tired. I need water. Need it like a junky needs jet.

Shit! It is too fucking hot for this. Balls! I shouldn't have just headed off after dad in such a hurry; in fact, I know I shouldn't of because I am out of water, and dangerously low on everything else. I wish some merchant would pop up somewhere instead of all these fucktastic super mutants yelling, "I'm gonna eat your head," and what not. I'd even settle for a band of raiders to target me. Raiders might mean water.

Lord, if your listening, I promise not to steal from Moriarty or Jericho (even if they are both creepy dudes and Jericho is way too attached to his teddy bear) if you'll send some supplies my way. Promise! Cross my heart and hope to die promise! (And, yes, I know how ironic that sounded. . .but you know what I meant. You are you: All powerful and omnipotent and everything.)

Jesus, I better not die from fucking thirst! I can't die. Not now. Not when I am so close to finding him and getting some much needed answers. I mean, shit Dad, why lie about how I wasn't born in the vault? Why? You could've told me. I wouldn't of freaked out or anything; in fact, it would've explained a lot.

Ouch! Goddammit! Great. Just peachy-keen. I had to trip over some debris, thusly spraining my ankle. Right. Okay, it's official, God hates me. Hates me! You know what God? I _will_ continue stealing from those d-bags . Yeah! I mean, what does it matter anyway? I'm obviously on your shit list. . . . Fuck! How awesome is my life right now, huh? Not very.

Okay, just gotta keep walking. Keep going Gemma. Keep going. I can do this. I will make it. I will. I'll prove to everybody what I'm made of. . .but first I need to find me some water. . . .

Wait. What's that I'm hearing? Cussing and bullshitting? Is that what I'm hearing? Bingo! And it's coming from my right? Yup. Good. I must be closing in on some raider scumbags who probably have supplies. Goodie-goodie gumdrops.

Okay, maybe God doesn't hate me, but He certainly doesn't want me to take it easy that's for damn sure. Whatever. I'll make it. I've got to or else die trying. What other choice do I have? Now to get me some well deserved water.


	5. Rebel Yell

I can't even look at him. Not after what he's done. All those people dead and for what? I knew he was a little power hungry, but I never thought that this would happen.

I guess I was blinded by his true nature because I loved him. I will never love him again. Not while I live and breathe will he ever get an, "I forgive you," or an, "I love you too daddy." Those days are gone.

But everyone else seems to love him.

It's hard to listen to everyone's grovelling. They're all blaming Gemma and her dad for what's happened; if any of them had half a brain they'd be placing the blame on my father. God, it's not like she asked for any of this! Pricks. All of them.

It was because of_ him_ that my best friend was run out of the vault. It was because of _him_ that her father decided to leave. It was_ his _orders that killed Jonas, and cost countless others their lives. I hate him; in fact, I hate him even more then the Tunnel Snakes, and that's definitely saying something.

If only I could figure out a way to help make things right. But what is there for me to do? Well, I know what Gemma do. Fight back, that's what. She was always the mischievous one, the schemer, and (I hate to admit this) but the leader too. She'd never just roll over and take such bullshit (she never did while she was here either).

So, that's what I'll do. I'll fight to get this vault opened. I'll fight for Gemma. I'll fight for Jonas. And, so help me, I'll fight just to cut him down. I am no longer daddy's little girl-----I am now the Overseer's worst nightmare.


	6. Man's Best Friend

**Thanks for the review jetflight girl! I really appreciated it. It's nice to know someone reads this and enjoys it. **

***************

They had killed the man. The good man. His man. With a loud bang, a pop, and then a yell the man was gone; the boomstick had made his head explode. The others that had killed the good man were rummaging through the good man's pockets. They were barking to each other. . .no, not barking. . .but something close to it. Humans talked differently than dogs.

With a growl the dog sprang upon them. He bit at their hands, sinking his teeth into their meaty flesh. He clawed at their arms and snapped at their heels. One of these mean humans cut the beast with a shiny something, while another fired their boomstick at his chest. Suddenly, the animal felt dizzy and then. . . .everything went black.

"There there little guy," said a kind female voice. It was soothing. Opening his eyes the mangy dog saw a young human woman crouching beside him. She had poked him with a sharp pointy thing that had made the hurt in his body go away. This human seemed alright. She was nicer than the others that had come; she had even saved him.

"It looks like they killed your master boy. I'm sorry. . . .Would you like to come with me?" Asked this new human. The dog stood and barked a, "Yes, I would like to come with you," then wagged his tail. The human woman seemed to understand and gestured for the dog to follow.

Later, once inside a big town called Megaton, the woman had renamed the dog "Dogmeat." (The dog's name before had been Charlie, but the dog didn't mind. Humans liked to name things.) This dog, now Dogmeat, felt safe with this woman, but sad too.

He had failed his other human. Dogmeat had caught a whiff of an intersting scent and had strayed from the scrap yard to explore, leaving the good man behind for just a day. . .but that was all it took. No longer would the man pet him, talk to him, or hold him. His first human had been killed because Dogmeat hadn't stayed by his master's side. Dogmeat hadn't been a good enough dog to the good man.

Whinning, Dogmeat wondered what would happen to this good woman if he left her? Would she die too in an explosion of blood? Dogmeat decided that death for this human was not an option. He would make sure of that. Wherever this woman went he would follow and protect her from harm because he was_ her _dog----and she was _his_ good human. Plus, Dogmeat knew all too well that good things rarely survived out there alone in the wastes; in fact, good things often got murdered because bad dogs left their master's behind. Dogmeat wasn't going to be bad anymore. Not after today. . .not after the loss of the good man and being the good man's dog "Charlie."


	7. No News is Bad News

**Thanks for your review D'awww! Reviews always cheer me up. ;) Now back to the story! **

***********

I thought for sure I'd get a letter today. I waited outside Megaton since four in the morning, waiting for Wolfgang to come our way. Arefu had been on his route, so I figured I'd get something from home. . .but I was wrong.

It has _never_ taken them this long to write me back before. The last letter I received was from over a month ago. What is going on? Has something happened to them? Something bad?

I think I'm going to be sick. . . . .

There is this steady nausea bubbling over inside of my stomach, one of worry and of fear. It's making my throat dry and the rest of me cold and clammy. I wonder if they finally confronted Ian about his condition, instead of simply writing it off as just "nervous" behavior. . . .No. They wouldn't. If there is one thing my parent's are good at it's being blissfully ignorant of the truth.

God, I never should have left. Even if Arefu felt like a dead end town, at least when I was there I could help Ian when he'd have one of his attacks. I'd be the one to hold him, while quietly reassuring him that everything would be alright. Mom and Dad never touched their son.

Dad always felt it was a woman's place to nurture, while our mother was too afraid to hug Ian. . .like she'd break him or something. So, it was always "big sis" to the rescue. It was always me.

Shit. Am I a selfish bitch or what? I just left Ian there! I couldn't take that house anymore. . . .Dammit! I should've stayed for my brother's sake, but I thought I could always send for him later. Fuck. I bet that whatever higher power is out there must be punishing me for this. I guess, it's offensive for someone to want a life of their own, even for just a little while. . . .

Great, I'm shaking. I need to calm down. Calm down. Take deep breaths Lucy. Ian would _never_ hurt our parents, and, sure, mom and dad _might _be shocked when they begin to notice the severity of Ian's predicament, but I know they love him. . .in their own way. They'd never kick him out, right?

Maybe I'm just overreacting. It might not be Ian's hunger issue that's keeping them from corresponding. . .it could be those raiders. What were their names again? The. . .something. It started with an "F". . . .Family! That's it! I bet they're the reason for all of this. It's probably because of them that the traders have been prevented from really trading with the residents of Arefu, so maybe my parents do have a letter for me, but simply can't deliver it. They're afraid to leave their house or something. Yes! That _has_ to be it. . . .

But, then, why do I still feel like someone's walked over my grave. . . . .

Calm down girl. All I have to do is to write a letter then have someone deliver it to my family. That's it. It's all _that _simple. In fact, I bet I'll be hearing from mom and dad in no time! Right. . . .Now, all I have to do is find someone to run this errand for me. Maybe that vault kid? It looks like she could use the caps and I could use the service. I'll ask her in a little bit, but first I need a stiff drink; I'd even do jet with Leo, anything to get my mind off of this bad feeling I'm having about my family that I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.


	8. Friends are Hard to Come By

Not many people look you in the eyes, especially when you're a walking corpse. Nobody ever looks at me. . .well, unless they want to berate me. Like Moriarty. He owns me until the day he fucking dies. The bastard. I hate him.

If only I had the guts to kill him. I wish I could, but I'm just not the murdering type; I simply don't have the stomach (or what's left of one) to hurt somebody else. But, Christ, if I _did_ Moriarty's ass would be toast. I'd probably even be named the goddamn hero of Megaton for snuffin' out his flame.

Yeah. . . that'd be nice, but none of that really matters in the long run. I'd even wager that fucktard doesn't have very long to live, not with the way he carries on. Shit, the guy drinks like a fish, produces more smoke then a chimney, and does God knows what else on the side. It's alright with me though, I don't mind outliving his wrinkly hide. Sure, being a ghoul ain't great, but at least we get to live long, albeit, unnatural lives.

In fact, it's _us _that lasts while everything else disappears and fades away. It's _us_ that stick around, slowly decaying while every other living thing dies fast and sweet deaths out in the Capital Wasteland. It's sad, but we're all that remains when everything else has gone; indeed, we're even all that's left of what was _before_ the Great War.

I often wonder if us "living dead types" only get to stop breathing once our useless bodies fall in on themselves, returning us to the dust from which we came. It's a disturbing thought, but there ain't much else for me to think about. . .well, except for _her_. Been thinking about Nova ever since she came into Megaton. Yeah, people label her as a whore, but she's more than that. . . .I just know she is.

Nobody but me seems to notice how she carries herself. She's a real lady. Dainty even. I wish she didn't do what she does. . .that she had a better life. How she keeps her sense of humor after all those useless guys fuck her then leave her, I don't know. Nova just keeps on going. She's definetly someone special, that's for sure.

But, sadly for me, Nova's never gonna feel the same way about me that I feel about her. (It's not like I haven't tried either). To Nova I'm just sweet ol' Gob. I'm that ghoulish bartender she works with. I'm nothing more than a pathetic admirer to her. Fuck. I hate my life.

Anyway, I bet if we did ever "hook up" my rotten excuse for a body would likely fall apart while trying to do the horizontal bop with her. I loath how repulsive I am; my own body acts as my cage, confining me to this lonely pathetic existence. I wish I was back in Underworld with my own kind. A place where nobody judged me for the way I looked, just for how I acted. . . .Yeah, but that didn't exactly work out for me either. I was run out by my mom's bitch of a girlfriend. God, I just can't get a break can I?

Huh. Looks like we got ourselves a new face in town. Probably wants info, a drink, and to remark on how ugly I am. Alright, Gob get ready for the obscenities. . . . Wait, the kid didn't curse at me. All she want's is to talk with Moriarty. Odd. I've usually been brutally humiliated by Moriarty's customers by now. . .and is she _smiling_ at me?

Hey, maybe my luck's changing? I think I've made my first real friend. Shit, I haven't had one of those since I was a real whole man. . . .Well, as far as I'm concerned this Gemma's gonna get discounts on her booze whenever she wants 'em. Moriarty can go hang for all I care. He can't take this away from me: I've got a friend.

*** Okay people no freaking out. Gob and Nova will not be getting together. The online fallout wiki guide mentioned how Gob has**** a crush on Nova, so I only thought it natural to put it in his drabble. As for Gob's relationship with Gemma, our "Lone Wanderer," it is purely platonic. They're just friends. I'm not big on the ghoul slash etc. Sorry, folks! It just isn't my cup of tea. Anyway, now would be a good time for reviews, so get to reviewing people! Reviews equal awesomeness for me. ;)**


	9. A Mother's Wisdom

*** Thanks so much for the reviews Fire Kunai and jetflight girl! They really make my day. :) I hope you like this next installment. My ultimate goal with this story is to eventually have viewpoints from all the characters. It's a lofty goal, but we all gotta have that one monster to slay. ;) LOL. Any-who, thanks agian for sticking with me! You're all awesome! **

**************

The wasteland will soon have pure water. . .and so will my unborn child. My sweet baby girl. James might think he's getting a boy, but I can just feel that our baby's a girl. I can't help it. Call it mother's intuition, but I just know God gave us a beautiful baby girl. My little ballerina; I swear all she does is dance in there. It doesn't hurt though. It's more like a tickle.

My daughter. I cannot wait to meet you. There is so much I long to share with you. I simply cannot wait! Come now my little one! Let us meet!

Oh, but we still have at least a month before your birth. Your father is so worried about it. I'm not though. We will both be in capable hands; with your daddy in the delivery room and your Auntie Madison, what could possibly go wrong? Nothing. Love is on our side.

My baby girl, what fun we will have! I will teach you how to read the stars, your father how to ride a bike, and all of us together will go on such adventures. We will travel to Megaton, Rivet City, and you'll get to run around a big fortress called The Citadel. The knights already adore the thought of you; in fact, your other auntie is a brave fearsome knight too. Her name is Star and she already said she gets to teach you how to fence.

I bet your wondering what we shall all call you, well don't worry. I have the perfect name for you: It is Gemma. You kicked, so I'm guessing you approve? Good. I'm glad you like it because you're stuck with it kiddo.

Gemma is named after one of mommy's favorite saints. Another kick! I'll take that as a cue to continue.

Saint Gemma had a hard life. When she was a young woman she got very ill. She had an incurable case of TB. (Don't worry, your dad will go over various illnesses with you when you're older. He's marked you to become a doctor. I still say you'll be a dancer. Your daddy doesn't believe me though.)

Well, after Gemma prayed to God she was cured. She went on to do great things for the world. She helped many people and never stopped giving. Even when her life became lonely, and she again became sick, she never lost her faith or her ability to love others. Wow! That was some powerful kick there kiddo. I'm thinking you like Saint Gemma just as much as I do. Like mother like daughter. . . .

Sweetheart, the world your being born into is not a perfect one. Yes, the work your father and I are doing will make it somewhat better for you, but it won't resolve everything. I know that there will be days when you are older that you will begin to loose your faith in the world----don't.

Sure, the world can be a bitter lonely place, yet it can also remain wonderful all the while. Remember, my darling girl: Life is a gift. One that we must repay by helping others.

I hate to say this, but some people are going to hurt you. They will make you cry. . .maybe even bleed a little. I wish this wasn't going to be so. If your father and I could shield you from pain we would, but we won't always be there. A day will come when you shall be on your own. When that happens what you will do is continue to pick yourself up and keep going. You _must_.

I expect that one day you'll look at me and ask, "Why do we fall mommy?" It will be then that I'll look deep into your brilliant eyes and answer, " So, we can pick ourselves back up to start again, new and fresh." Mistakes shall be made in your life (Lord knows I've made a few and so has your daddy) but you will keep going. Never will you loose your hope or your sense of purpsose, for you are going to be a fighter. That I can feel too. My daughter, the kung-fu fighting prima ballerina pre-med wonder child. Oh, how the thought of you makes me smile. . . .

And even though there will be those that will choose destructive paths, there are others you shall meet that will show you nothing but kindness. It will be for them (and not just for yourself) that you will continue to pick yourself up; in fact, it is because of these good souls that your father and I have toiled endlessly for clean water. We long to do our part for the betterment of mankind like Saint Gemma. . .and so will you.

Ah, my daughter! Soon we will all get to meet you! Soon. So, soon I can hardly contain myself with joy. How I love you my daughter. The future shall be so much brighter with you in it! You are such a gift. My special gift.

I love you Gemma. Always know that. Mommy loves you with all her heart. I'll never leave you, not if I can help it. My darling daughter, my sweet bright star. I love you.


	10. One Step Closer

*** Okay, I know, I've posted two new installments in one day. Shocking, isn't it? Well, I couldn't help myself. I hope you all enjoy it! Oh, and before I forget, thanks for reviewing my story again Fire Kunai. You're too awesome for words! Oh, and thanks to everyone who reads this! I'm glad you like it. ;) Now, without further ado, to the wastes! **

************

Shit and shine-o-la finding Galaxy News radio proved to be a harder endeavor than I thought it'd be. It was like every where I went I ran head first into a fire fight! Fucking freak super mutants. I hate them. . .not to mention their distinctive smell. Those rejects reek of death mixed with garbage mixed with radiation poisoning and just a dash of diarrhea. (Apparently, the concept of bathing isn't one super mutants follow).

What super mutants do understand is how to eat, maim, and kill people. Fuckers are called super for a reason, and it isn't just because of their size. They are "super" at being super deadly; I even saw one rip some hapless raider limb from limb only _after_ taking a huge bite out of the guy, right in his abdomen. And what did I do? I promptly tossed my cookies before getting the hell outta dodge, thank you very much.

Thank God for grenades, stimpacks, and some serious luck----I wouldn't have made it otherwise. I'd wager 500 caps that if I hadn't been so lucky then I'd have just been another slab of meat on some super mutey's dinner plate. The very thought makes me shudder.

The important thing is I _made _it. After busting my ass searching for my dad I got one step closer. . .and just missed him. Fuck me Freddy, ain't I having fun? Still, I successfully traversed through the metro tunnel systems, fought my way through countless ass-hats, helped the Brotherhood of Steel take out one ginormously angry Super Mutant Behemoth without (might I add) the loss of any limbs. If I'm not mistaken, that's some pretty impressive footwork I pulled off out there (considering I'm just some dumb vaultie), right? Yeah, I thought so too. I was so delusional I even thought Three Dog would be more than happy to tell me where my dad ran off to.

Wrong!

For going on and on about the "good fight," Three Dog doesn't truly grasp the concept of it; in fact, I think the only thing he cares about is his radio station. As for human life, well, whether our radio disc jockey realizes it, human life is pretty disposable to him. I mean, if he believed _half_ the shit he's selling on the air then he would've done me a solid; he'd of happily given me my dads new whereabouts, and maybe even some ammo. Instead, he decides to toy with me by keeping me in the fucking dark about where my old man's run off to.

Oh, and it gets _better_. Before he'll even consider giving me the 411 on what's up I have to run an errand for the dick. Yup. Now, I'm resting up before I have to head over to the Museum of Technology to retrieve a satellite dish, so I can replace Three Dog's broken one. Wonderful. Me in downtown D.C. one of the most heavily populated mutant areas. I hope to God my luck hasn't run out yet because I'll be needing it.

You know, the ironic thing is that if Three Dog had simply steered me in the direction my father had gone then I would've done this as a favor to him, no questions asked. I'd have even done it with a fucking _smile _on my face! He didn't though. He had to act like a royal condescending d-bag, so I'm charging him a butt load of caps for this little request of his. His loss. I deserve it anyway. (Especially, after hearing Three Dog's long winded lecture about how fighting the good fight shouldn't have a price and blah, blah, blah).

Christ, I am so tired. . . . Dad, the reason you left the vault better be good one. I will totally flip out if this was just one of those "midlife crisis things." Yeah. . .but dad isn't like that though. He'd_ never_ leave me unless he absolutely had to. I only wish I knew what that reason was. . . .

For now, all I can do is rest up before I do what I do best, which is following in his footsteps. You just wait dad, we'll see each other real soon; that is, if I don't get blown to bits on this next quest of mine. Gee, there's a dandy thought. . . .Anyway, night dad, wherever you are, and stay safe---I'll try and do the same. Pinky swear.


	11. Time Will Tell

That kid left GNR today. I've decided to call her the "Lone Wanderer" on air. It has a nice ring to it; plus, with all the shit 101's gone through the kid deserves a fly nick name. Consider this a peace offering kid. . .Ol' Three Dog doesn't give many of those out anymore. Not these days.

I've been kicked in the gut too many times to care; Three Dog's seen too many people cut down by others to believe in charity. I think it's safer (and far wiser) to fight the good fight within my fortress of rock n' roll. I know the vault kid doesn't get it yet, but what I do matters. _I'm_ the voice of hope for all those refugees of the wastes. Not to mention, what I broadcast isn't the equivalent of brahmin shit, but actual news, unlike President Eden and the enclave.

Those dudes are bad trouble. Bad with a capital B-A-D. All those cats aim to do is spoon feed people into thinking the wastes are on the mend, like there's a goddamn paradise being built for us somewhere or something. As if. My parents didn't raise no fool; in fact, they raised one opinionated little wiseass---me.

Three Dog knows when he's being shoveled a dish of fuck salad with a case of shit dressing on the side. Nobody better tell me that what the enclave's selling is the truth. Like those bureaucratic pricks know the meaning of the word? (They're politicians for fuck's sake!) All politicians want to do is gain more power while stickin' it to the little guy. Thank God the wastes have _me_ to guide them. Without me, they'd probably be all brainwashed enclave robots by now.

Still, there's also the brotherhood. I can't forget about them. GNR wouldn't have lasted a day, let alone a week, without their protection. I swear, those guys have saved my ass more times than I can count (or even deserve). They're definitely real honest to God bona fide heroes.

The Brotherhood of Steel is constantly risking their lives for all of those wayward souls of the wastes. None of these cats even care if they even get a "thank you" from anyone--- that's how much they care about fighting the good fight. Dedicated soldiers to the end, all of them gladly dying for the cause. I salute them.

It's funny, but whether the kid realizes it or not, she's impressed a _lot_ of brotherhood paladins and knights with her fancy footwork. (She's even impressed me.) I mean, Christ! The girl from vault 101 single handedly took down that fucking super mutey behemoth. To quote Sarah Lyons, "That girl's got serious balls."

God, if her dad only knew what she did for GNR he'd be one proud papa. Don't get me wrong, I like 101, but she didn't strike me as her dad struck me.

James seemed focused on the cause; he looked like the kind of guy who is determined to fight for what he believes in no matter what. His daughter. . .I don't know about her so much. Yeah, it's sad how he left her, but he left her for the_ right_ reasons. This "project purity" he was talking about might just be the answer to all the waste's problems. It just might even mean mankind's salvation. Anyway, how could I refuse being able to get clean water all of the time? I couldn't, plus the people need it.

I know, all the kid wants is her daddy. Sure, that's valid, I get that, but 101 is only focused on herself right now. She doesn't understand the good fight yet. I aim to get her to. That's why I sent her on a little mission of mine. I want to see what she's made of. If she does it successfully then I'll tell her where her daddy's headed. . . . If not, well I'll be sending her in another direction. I don't want this girl to risk blowing the waste's chance at clean water, and I'm guessing neither does her father.

Damn. . .I must be getting soft 'cause I've decided that if that kid lives up to my standards I'll even tell her where that weapons bunker is. See? Three Dog can be a softy when he wants to be. . . Fuck. I guess this must mean I still believe in charity. Hot damn! Anyway, whatever happens I do know one thing for sure about the kid: the "Lone Wanderer's" gonna go down in wasteland history.

The only thing that's not clear is if she'll be a legend for all the right reasons, or for all the wrong ones. Only time will tell.

*** So, as you can see I tried to bring Three Dog to life. I found his perspective extremely difficult. If I didn't get his essence right, please let me know. Any constructive criticism is appreciated thanks. Oh, and you both rock, Fire Kunai and jetflight girl! I heart you guys. :)**


	12. A Business Venture

***Thanks for the review Fire Kunai! I'm glad you like Three Dog's drabble. I really struggled with that one. **

************

Goddamn saloon is a fucking eye sore. Not only is it as fugly as hell, but it's also filthy (even by wasteland standards). Not to mention, the owner looks like a gay pirate and acts like a royal dickwad. If I could fucking level Moriarty's ass I would. . .and my wish might just get to come true.

Some secretive motherfucker named Burke approached me the other day. Apparently this guy works for the famous Alistair Tenpenny. Burk told me that his boss is interested in leveling the competition as it were. In laments terms: Tenpenny wants Megaton to go out with a bang.

Should I be conflicted about this proposition? I suppose. . .but honestly, I don't care. All I really care about is moving The Brass Lantern to Tenpenny Tower. Let's face it, the tower is where it's at. It's hell of a lot safer than Megaton, and those rich bastards have more caps than they know what to do with. Is it wrong that I'd like to get some more business for my bar? Fuck no.

Anyway, decimating Megaton shouldn't prove too hard since the town has an atomic bomb in the center of it. Why some residents think the bomb's god is beyond me; fuckers are too stupid to grasp that god's just an illusion. The dude doesn't exist. Fuck. If you're going to create anything then why create it only to witness it blown to smithereens in the Great War? My answer: you wouldn't.

What_ will_ be worth seeing Megaton destroyed is knowing that Moriarty will be destroyed with it. I don't think I've ever hated anyone as much as I hate him. Oh, and I _hate_ him. He is a pimple on the asshole of society; he needs to be popped.

I'm not going to tell Leo or Jenny about this. Those two don't have a head for business. They're both too softhearted for it. They'd only try to talk me out of activating the bomb anyway. Plus, when they'd figure out that there'd be no reasoning with me those two light weights would only go running off to Simms. Snitches.

No, my siblings will just have to be kept in the dark about Tenpenny's plan. There's no reason they have to be burdened with this anyway; that's what big brother's are for, I guess. Nope, I'll be doing this one solo.

Just you wait Moriarty. Just you wait. You're gonna meet one fiery end by my hands. You fucking prick, I'm gonna be dancing on your ashes after the deed is done! Fucker. He pees in his still for shit's sake! The man's grave deserves to be danced on. . .even defecated on maybe. It'd only be fitting. I'm just as fucking happy as can be that I'll be the one to make it happen. I'll be the end of you Moriarty. Just you wait.


	13. A Betting Man

The world is a hell hole. A toxic wasteland of filth, vermin, and violence that feeds on the weak. It disgusts me, this never ending nightmare. It is time the world was cleansed.

Tenpenny is such a naïve fool. He honestly believes_ I'm_ serving_ him_? No, the rich bastard's serving_ me_. He sends me out on his "errands" believing I care about his damn tower, but all I care about is making past wrongs right. I intend to eradicate the world of it's corruption and wasteland abominations at any cost. Thanks to Tenpenny, I can do that with his endless amount of caps at my disposal. The idiot.

Currently, I am in Megaton. I plan on having that damn bomb detonated before it explodes on its own. My "boss" agreed to activating the bomb because it would mean less competition for his hotel. . .but I have my own reasons. With it gone, it will no longer pose a threat to the wastes; furthermore, it will no longer be a liability, a weapon to use against us by the Chinese or God knows who else. Hopefully, that Andrew Stahl will take care of it for me. He certainly seems eager to.

Yet, I'm doubting if Stahl has the wherewithal to seal the deal as it were. He seemed squirrelly to me; as if he wasn't all there. The guy definitely twitched like a junky experiencing withdrawals when discussing his motivation for wanting the town gone. . . .Something about that Moriarty character pissing in his still, I think? Whatever his reasons are his business. I only care about getting rid of that atomic eyesore once and for all.

Yes, the loss of Megaton will be unfortunate, but it isn't as if the town's well constructed anyway. It is made out of bits of garbage and scrap metal for pity's sake. It's an absolute joke. In the future such ill designed settlements will no longer exist; indeed, the wastes will be cleaner then if all goes according to my plans. And they will too. I am not a man to be trifled with. When I begin a task I finish it, giving it my full concentration and devotion until I see it through----This mission is no different. I will not rest until the good earth has been cleansed so humanity can one day thrive, and start anew.

I _will_ see Megaton engulfed in a mushroom cloud of fiery fury before the month is ended. I will. I am certain of this. I would even go as far as to say I wager my prized fedora on it. (And I _never_ kidd when it comes to my fedora).

Indeed, Megaton will fall and out of it's ashes will rise a phoenix of hope symbolizing the wastes rebirth-----I am absolutely giddy with the thought of it. I can hardly _contain_ my happiness. If only Stahl wasn't so sluggish in his duties of destruction, for I am growing impatient. If Andrew doesn't move soon then I will have to find somebody else more capable. . .and I will too because I never lose a bet.


	14. Heart Burn

*** I'm so unbelievably happy that you guys liked my Burke drabble. Yay! I really wanted to get him right. He was one tough cookie to crack. Any-who, thank you jetflight girl and Fire Kunai for your reviews! You guys are so sweet. ;) Hopefully this installment won't disappoint. **

************

It would be my luck to fall in love with a man incapable of loving me in return. For all my knowledge of the world, of science, my heart was still capable of overruling my brain. If only there was a way to stop its beating without stopping one's ability to live. . .if only. Yet, there are no ifs only certainties in life: like how I will continue to care for James, even nineteen years since the day he abandoned the project. Since the day he abandoned me. . . .

I cannot help myself. As soon as I saw his face again all the old feelings resurfaced. The hurt, pain, longing, and giddiness returned to me (or perhaps they never really left). No, dulled perhaps but never lost. It's a fools paradise for those whom honestly believe that time heals all wounds. Ha! It cannot heal what cannot be repaired; indeed, some things are beyond fixing.

I wonder if he knows my feelings for him? If he did would he have embraced me so upon seeing me? I scarcely know. I do know that when he enveloped me in a hug I felt as if I were dying inside. It was a reminder to me that he will never love me nor be mine. . . .He will always be hers.

Out of all the people James could've fallen for he had to fall for the one person I could never hate----Catherine, my dearest friend. I tried to tell myself that my love for him would diminish; that soon it would be but a vague memory whispering at the corners of my mind, and nothing more. This became my mantra, "Soon I will forget." I never forgot. I only loved him more.

My insufferable heart just kept on beating for him. It is as if I am tethered to him forever. The only person to blame is myself. I was the one that ran away from my emotions instead of taking a chance on happiness. It was I, and no other soul, but I, that did this. It's ironic, by avoiding my love for James I caused myself more pain than if I had simply told him how I felt. . .

But, I remained ever silent about what my heart most desired----him. In the end, this silence cost me my one chance at happiness. The man I loved married someone else . . .he married Catherine. He wedded not only my best friend, but the one person I loved as much as him. It was pathetic. They thought I was crying on that day because I was so happy for them when, in fact, I was sobbing for myself.

God, James! Why did you have to come back? Why? And why did you ask for me? You betrayed me when you left. After Catherine died you fled with your child and fled from everything you believed in---or once believed in. I guess when a man's wife dies he loses faith in the world.

Well, James by your leaving I too lost faith. . . .I lost my faith in you. Sure, you can beg all you want for me to join you, but I won't. I will not. Even if my heart hasn't moved on the rest of me has. I have a new life now, and it doesn't involve you. . . .No matter how much I might want it to.

Good luck James and good-bye, for it is my turn to abandon you. Blame it all on my heart. It can't bear the sight of you anymore; it simply burns me up.


	15. Hungry Heart

*** Ember113 thanks for your reviews. I'm glad you like my little drabbles. The Butch chapter's one of my favorites too. I hope you like this next one, 'cause here it is. ^___^**

*************

Fucking hunger was so_ fucking_ unbearable! I couldn't help myself. . . .Without Lucy there to hold me, to fucking fight for me, I just cracked. Without even thinking I jumped on my father, tearing his throat out; I attacked him like I was some godforsaken deathclaw. Shit! And mom. . . .

For awhile, I couldn't look in the mirror at my own reflection. I hated myself. All I saw whenever I caught a glimpse of my face were their faces staring back at me. Mom would be sobbing, and dad would be banging at the glass with his fists----both of them disfigured from what I'd done to them. I couldn't stand it! Looking into their dead accusing eyes and feeling the hate, contempt, and fear they harbored towards me. . . .It was absolute hell on fucking earth, and I know a thing or two about hells on earth.

Fuck me. I mean, what freak of nature kills their own parents? Fuck. Not only did I kill them, but I. . .I ate parts of them too. I remember I was obsessed with their blood; I wanted to bathe in it. If not for Vance and the Family I could've taken out the whole goddamn village. I thank whatever forces are at work for sending them my way.

Vance, he just took me in like I was his own son. He and everyone else even took the blame for my crime, and by doing so, saved my sorry excuse for a soul. They were, no _are_, amazing.

Nobody in the Family judged me, or treated me like the freak I felt I was. It was like I had_ finally_ found my home. I was with people who suffered just as I had suffered and who really understood me. Those were some of the happiest days of my life. I had friends, friends that loved me for who I was. . .for all that I was.

So, then why did I leave? Even now I don't really know the reason. . . . I guess, it was just that that girl cast a spell over me. Out of the blue this vision enters my cell, and tells me to "man up." That I should stop sulking and get off my ass, so I can face what I had. (She even said that if I wouldn't budge she'd make me budge, if not for my sake then for my sister's.) When I told her what I did she didn't even look surprised, she said she knew. I was fucking amazed! She knew and she _still_ wanted me to go home? I mean, she didn't even look slightly disgusted. She was giving me fucking eye contact and everything! What the fuck was going on?

Then she told me her name. . the most beautiful name I've ever heard. Gemma. She told me the origins of that name, and how she was christened after a saint. Gemma went on to say how Saint Gemma Galgani (her favorite saint) had suffered, but even with all her hardships she just kept on going because life was a gift. Then Gemma slapped me and said, "Snap out of it!" The contact left me speechless, and I ended up nodding like an idiot when she told me to collect my things. I think it was then that I. . .I began to love her.

When I followed her out of my cell Vance didn't even seem mad or anything; it was as if he knew that I couldn't say no to her. I swear his fucking eyes were laughing at me. All he said was I'd always have a home with the Family, and hugged me before Gemma and I made our grand exit.

So, now I'm back in Arefu living in the house I'd vowed never to enter again. Everything's the same, except it's just me at home. Lucy visits from time to time; she even offered to move back, but I told her not to. Luce needs to live for herself for awhile and not for me. Plus, it's not as if I'm too lonely anymore.

The townspeople are kind to me. . .kinder than they were before this all happened. I think that's Gemma's doing. She had some words with them all when we got back; I had to wait at the edge of town while she smoothed things over for me. She even got Arefu and the Family to work out their differences; yeah, the Family act as our bodyguards while we give them blood packs in return. Damn, that Gemma sure is something.

It seems that it is thoughts of her that have replaced my hunger. . .although, the hunger will always be with me. It'll haunt me until my death day comes, still, thanks to the Family, I now know how to control it better. Like, if I ever get, you know, hungry I just go suck on a couple of brahmins or blood packs. Also, Vance taught me some meditation techniques for when I feel myself slipping. I can fucking mediate the pants off anybody now; in fact, I'm like the guru of meditation. Just yesterday I felt the hunger begin to claw at me again, so I meditated for ten hours straight. Isn't that fucking awesome? I thought so too.

Yet, hours of meditation can't get her image out of my brain. Gemma is my goddess realized, and thoughts of her flutter in and out of my brain like a song. I can't help myself. I'll never act on it though. . .not that I don't fucking want to. It's just, I don't want to end up hurting her. I mean, she's so fucking great that what if I get a little too passionate? What if, instead of kissing her neck, I bite it? No. I will never tell her my feelings. I'd rather have her as a friend forever (loving her from a distance) than to have her as my lover for an instant. Anyway, the hunger would probably fucking consume me if I ever lost her in that way. . .I don't even want to think about it. I'll just focus on something else, like how she smiles, moves, and laughs. . .and how I'll love her until time stands fucking still. _My_ Gemma. . . you'll never know the effect you have on me. You're my girl, and you're the reason I now view life as a gift. . .because you're in it. Thank you.

*** Sorry, everybody! I really screwed this one up. x__x I blame my "Evan Vance mistake" on tiredness, and my sucky cold. I **_**knew **_**when I uploaded this drabble that something was off, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. Anyway, I am uber sorry. I guess we all have our off days. Thanks again to all my readers! I heart you guys big time. *Hugs***


	16. Father Knows Best

Girl doesn't know what's good for her. Doesn't it say in the bible that children are to, "Honor thy fathers and thy mothers?" Well, Amata sure isn't listening to what God wants her to do, or to her old man. I _knew_ allowing her to run around with James's sorry excuse for a daughter was a bad idea; that Gemma was clearly a bad seed from the get-go. Hell, her mother probably died because that brat was clawing her way out. I hope she dies out there along with her father. . .because of them the vault's in utter chaos.

If James hadn't gotten it into his thick skull to leave than Jonas needn't have died. Also, those damn radroaches wouldn't have run amuck; and Amata wouldn't be leading a goddamned rebellion against me. My _own_ daughter cavorting with the Tunnel Snakes! Her mother is rolling over in her grave right now, thank God she isn't alive to see this.

Dammit. I wish Amata would simply trust in my judgment. I have been her provider, protector, and her father for these last nineteen years. Does that not count for anything? Apparently, this generation doesn't grasp what is owed to the elder generation---respect. My own daughter a hooligan. Jesus H. Christ! What is the world coming to?

I do know one thing though, I will not be overthrown as the leader of this vault. For years I have run it efficiently, effectively, and economically. I have kept these citizens safe from the threat of the wastes, along with all the capital's perversions. It was_ me_ and_ me_ alone. No man, (not even my flesh and blood) will tear asunder what is rightfully mine. No. I will go down fighting for what is right, which, is keeping the outside out and the inside in.

Why else were the vaults made? To let the rabble of the apocalypse rape the citizens that are the hope for America's future? I think not. Never. No, God would not want that to happen. . .I _am_ his right hand in this matter. The vault shall remain closed.

Oh, James, you fool! I should have killed you and your bitch of a daughter when I had the chance. . . .Because of you mine only child hates me, and the vault is in an uproar. I wonder how you can sleep at night, you bastard? Not well I imagine. . .

I wish I could be the one to give you the news (which I am sure will be given to you in due course) that your dearest daughter was ravished, then eaten by super mutants. Ha! Wouldn't that be something? Oh, I pray for it every night, along with the hope that Amata comes to her senses, and realizes what I always knew----that you and Gemma are trash. Yes, and like trash, the pair of you are easily disposable. There will be other doctors and even other friends Amata, human life isn't always special. . .especially, when it's been tainted by the wastes.

She'll come to her senses eventually, for father know's best. Stupid child. Disobay me? We'll see about that. . . .


	17. Living is for Losers

Life is a disgusting black hole of nothingness; a meaningless ride of monotony. It is boring. A complete and utter snore fest. . . . Still, if I'm gonna join my undead brothers and sisters, I'd rather do it by my own hand than by those of the super mutants. Sure, I accept that we human beings are just meat and everything, but yuck! What a way to go!

Every time they visit Big Town somebody's killed brutally; their divine flames extinguished by Neanderthals. (It's a little funny when I think of it that way). Yet, I wish it would end. . .the spirits are restless for it to. I can feel it.

If there is one thing anybody should know about me it is that _I_ am a_ very_ emotional person. In fact, I am unlike anybody else out here in this Godforsaken wasteland. It is _I _(and no one else, but I) that can pick up on the heavy vibes of the earth's lost tormented souls. Sure, it can get kinda exhausting, but it's still a wicked cool gift.

Oh, the Great Beyond! If only I could muster up the courage to join my fellow ghosts. To wander aimlessly in the great void--what a trip that would be! Plus, Big Town blows. Pappy was such a liar about it! He told me it was gonna be better than Little Lamplight. Asshole. He even went on to say that it was gonna be an oasis and some other bullshit like that. God, I was such a fool. I believed the creep. Damn. I regret letting him fondle my breasts now. (It_ so_ wasn't worth it. He just kept squeezing them as if they were tennis balls or something. I mean, really, what the fuck Pappy?)

But, I've sense dumped the jerk. I've had other lovers, so, whatever. I almost kinda feel sorry for him (kinda) because he's gotten all sulky since I kicked him to the curb. Oh, well, he'll get over me. . .eventually. I could care less though.

In the big scheme of things, Pappy doesn't _really_ rate. He's like one of those background characters in a story book, that you know of, but don't care about, because, like, he isn't the brave knight or anything, you know? Anyway, what _does _matter is how much I hate it here! And so does the spirit world.

Big Town is like an epicenter of evil, or, in the very least, it's an epicenter of discord. The vibes in here are mega heavy. It's almost too much for my tender soul to bear. Oh, that the world wasn't so cruel! But, alas, it is and forever shall be so. . . Sucks doesn't it? If only I was braver. . . .Then I could brake free of my mortal chains, to walk with my brethren in the afterlife. I bet I'd make a killer ghost too. If only I could do it, but I can't. I'm such a loser.

Once, I cut my left wrist open with a jagged piece of scrap metal. I meant to finish the job, and slice open my right wrist too, but fear prevented me from doing so. I just remember staring at my bleeding wrist, feeling empty, then one single tear trickled down my cheek, smearing my make-up. I then sobbed my little ass off. Like the narc I am, I ran to Red the town's doc (if you can call her that) and made up some story about how I "accidentally" cut my wrist open. I think Red knew that I was lying though. . . . It was the way she looked at me, as if she sympathized with me, but, at the same time, pitied me as well. Fuck. I pity me! I'm still alive.

I wish I could go backwards in time to when I was a little girl. Back then I was more carefree, and the voices of the dead were more whispers than screams. The departed were less demanding back in the day. Now, in Big Town, they scream for blood---for vengeance. They seem to think I will be able to stop their pain; that I will find some champion who will make things right. I doubt it. I can't_ even _save myself.

All I have is pain, longing, and this desire to be loved. . .and to figure out the mysteries of my gift. Yet, somethings shall never be answered or fulfilled, for life is a meaningless void. To live is the ultimate punishment, especially when your existence is as empty as mine. Yes, life means nothing, and death, well, it too isn't perfect, but it sure as hell beats Big Town.


	18. I Bleed Freely

**Thanks for the reviews jetflight girl and YokiTheOtaku. I'm glad you both enjoyed the Bittercup entry. I had a lot of fun writing her. =)**

***********

Oh, God, it hurts so bad. . . .Fuck! Fuckity-fuck! Those Goddamn mutey bastards! I was playing it safe, I was being sneaky, like some kick ass ninja or something, and they still heard me. How? I. . .I don't want to die. Please, not today. Not today. Not when I am so close.

Breath. Just breath. Keep moving. Keep running. Run to live. . . . Run to find shelter, shelter to stop the bleeding, shelter to grab medical supplies, shelter to doctor up, to pony up, to find dad, to slap dad in the face for this bullshit. . . .Ha ha ha ha. I'm losing it. It's because of the blood; instead of bread crumbs, I'm leaving me a blood trail. I'm coloring myself red, ain't it great? Just like momma I'm gonna die young too. Maybe it's hereditary for the women in my family? Or we just have some shitty luck.

FUCK. I can't stop the bleeding! Can't look at it. . .not right now. There's a hole down there, I can feel it on my right side. Wind's whistling right through me as I run. Can't catch me Fucktarded super mutants, you can't touch me. Don't. Touch. ME!

Blam! Right between the eyes. Good. Where am I? Colors. . .so many swimming together. . . .Am I close to it? Gob. . .Gobby-Gob. . .said there was a place for ghouls. . . . Museum of. . .Of something or other. . .Ha ha ha ha. . .Museum of the damned! Funny shit. I'm a regular clown, but I hate clowns. . . .Goddammit.

Help. I need help. Can't. Run. Anymore. Can't. . .Lost too much of myself running. Too much life goo oozed outta me. . .It dripped out of my mouth, making my lips redder than usual; it's so cold now, I thought blood was warm, was back in the vault when I helped dad with his patients. Weird. . .Cold. Wait. Shock. Shock bad. Gotta. Move. Get. Up. Get. Up. Gemma. Gemma UP.

I'm a up. I'm a moving on up. Moving, moving. That's me a go-getter. Shit. Can't see. I can't see? Why can't I see?! God. God, the pain. The pain and the darkness. . .someone's touching me. . .DON'T TOUCH ME!

Too strong. This things too strong. Are you my dead mother? Hi mommy. . . .I'm gonna sleep now. . . .Sleep it'll numb the pain, and coma's aren't so bad. Nope. . . .Pain. . .want everything to go away. Mommy! Why'd he leave me? Daddy! Don't tell me to stop crying! I can cry. . .hurts, so bad. Hurts. Hurts. . . I'm. . .I. . .Mom, please help me!

Hands. Hands on my body. Can't stay awake. Where's my mother?! Where? She was here! I saw her! Don't touch me! STOP TOUCHING ME! OUCH. Needles, everywhere needles. . . .Doctor's. . . .No daddy here. No doctor dad. . .no, mom. . .no nothing. Just blood. . .and burning. . .and the darkness. So, dark. . . .I think I'll sleep now. Good-night daddy, I'll tell mommy "hello" for you. . . .Love you daddy. . .Love. . .you.

*** Just a note to my readers: Do not panic. Gemma isn't dead. Our girl's only a little worse for wear is all. No worries, okay? I'm not going to do away with our beloved Lone Wanderer. Pinky swear. ;)**


	19. Do You Concur?

***Thanks for your reviews Fire Kunai. Now, please read on to discover where the Lone Wanderer's wandered off to. ;)**

Jesus, it's a miracle this kid's alive. One of our look-outs (or muscle) spotted her stumbling for the museum, while leaving one hell of blood trail behind her. Shit. By all intents and purposes, this girl. . .Gemma I think her name is, should be stone cold dead. Nurse Graves and I never should've saved her; it seemed impossible, I mean, the size of that hole. . . .Shit. Something's looking out for this girl, that's for damn sure.

The minute they brought her into The Chop Shop, screaming, kicking, and choking on her own blood I figured that within the hour she'd be gone. Perhaps she made it because we all worked so hard to keep her going? I don't know. It all felt so damn hopeless. Still, as a doctor, I (along with Nurse Graves) did all that could be done to keep the kid going----it's better to do something than nothing at all. As Underworld's roaming security bot says, "Never give up. Never surrender," so I didn't.

Yet, despite the sedatives she was given, the stimpacks, the care, and the stitches I doubted that these things would help my patient in the least; in fact, I think it was this girls own _resolve_ that kept her in the land of the living. Before she was knocked out, this Gemma, kept murmuring about her father being lost and how she needed to bring a special disc to someone called, "Doggy Man," or she'd never see her him again. She also kept asking Nurse Graves where her mother went to. . .I'm guessing she must've mistook one of the people that carried her into Underworld for her mother. My God, her screams tore everybody's heart out, well, _maybe _not Ahzrukhal's.

That sleazy bartender had the nerve to ask me (while I'm operating on her) if there was anyway to shut the girl up because her screams were upsetting his customers. (The creep even said he'd pay me a hefty amount of caps if I'd just let her die). I'm a man of science, but I'd bet my life that Ahzrukhal doesn't have a heart; that, he is in fact, a scientific oddity because he can survive without the use of one. . . . Well, that, and he's a walking corpse like the rest of us poor saps.

Whenever this kid, Gemma, wakes up she's going to have quite the following. I swear, all of Underworld's adopted her, even if she is a smooth-skin. It's like an hour cannot pass by without someone leaving her something. Fuck. It's like Christmas threw up in here! There are an endless supplies of ammunition, supplies, and even teddy bears. Yes, Gemma's become the darling of the ghoul community. I hope she's going to be okay with that. . .but I think she will. If that kid can traverse the mall with a hole the size of a grapefruit, she can live with just about anything-----including a following of ghouls.

My only hope is she finds her father alive and not a corpse, or a walking corpse because that (unlike her gunshot wound) will be the death of her. I should know, for I am a doctor, and, as such, I've gotten pretty good at figuring out my patients, whether they have smooth skins our not. But, I wonder, even if her dad is dead perhaps this kid might soldier on? I mean, if anything, this girl's full of surprises. . .and maybe her biggest suprise of all shall be to continue on living when what she was living for is no longer living with her, or for her. Yes, that would be the biggest surprise of all.


	20. Dirty Deeds

***Okay, I've got an announcement to make. Here it is: I will be writing a Gemma Lone Wanderer story. There, happy? LOL However, it won't be done until I'm finished with my drabbles, so you're all going to have to be patient. I promise that once this project is done then I'll start on the full on Gemma story. (Cross my heart and hope to die promise!) With that said, thanks again for all your great reviews. You guys are awesome. Now, back to the story! **

***********

Crap on a cracker. It's like all these slobs can talk about is that patient of Doctor Burrow's. It's not like she did anything special other than scream her fucking lungs out and bleed all over the damn place. Shit.

I'm thinking about sending Charon down to The Chop Shop to do away with the kid; however, if Charon did that then my customer's would probably annoy me even more by sobbing over the girl's demise . . .Fucking lose-lose situation either way.

Damn brat! Oh, well, I guess I shouldn't be so sore about it. I mean, more people have been in here toasting for Gemma's "good health," and all that sappy shit. Caps is caps, I guess. Yeah, if there's one thing a man can depend on in this world it's capitalism. Money makes the world go round, and, personally, I like the world spinning like a friggin' top (if you can catch my drift).

Money, money, money. If only money was a woman then I'd be as happy as a pig in shit. Sadly, since there is no such golden goddess, so I have to settle for one of Underworld's many ghoulish prostitutes. (Hey, even a ghoul has needs.) I just hope the next time I visit Ginger, I don't leave a piece of myself behind. . .it just makes the whole transaction that much more fucking awkward. Hey, baby, that was good, now, could you be a doll and reattach my left ball sac? It could _really_ use some of that wonder glue of yours to keep it in place sugar. Yeah, fucking for ghouls can be a fucking mess; still, I like fucking so I guess it evens out.

What doesn't even out is that I have competition in this hell hole. If it wasn't for that stupid ass eatery, I'd be rolling in the caps. Fucking dike dive is what that is. I need someone to take care of it for me. I've asked Charon, but he gave me such a mean look (well, meaner for him anyways) that I'm not even gonna broach the subject with him any more. Nope. . .I'm just going to have to be extra cunning about this one.

What I need to do is hire someone nobody will suspect could ever harm any of those two dike dinner hostesses. Yeah. . .like that Gemma. She's like Underworld's fucking mascot now. Fuck. That'd be too perfect. I'm fucking wetting myself in happiness thinking about her popping a cap in Greta's head! Shit. That'd sure be something. I think I'll approach the kid about it once she's fully recovered. I can be very persuasive, especially when I have the caps to back me up. Yeah, she'll break. God, this is gonna be good. In fact, I'm so fucking happy about this that I think I need to treat myself to something special. . .like maybe do some muff diving tonight. Yeah, it looks like I not _only_ deserve to get me some Ginger, but I could use a little Cinnamon as well. Fuckin-A.

I'm back, hells yes, I'm back on top babe, and it feels good to be on top. . .it'll feel even better tonight. Thanks Gemma. You turned out not to be such a chink in my chain after all. I guess, I might have to owe her one. . .well, if she doesn't fuck this up for me. First, though, I owe myself a good time. Ladies, here I come!


	21. In Between

The pain is gone. . .thank God for that. Where I am is a different story. Its empty here, wherever here is. . . .I don't think I'm dead. No, it's like an in-between place. But, how am I supposed to know that? _How?_

It's all white around me; it's starting to hurt my eyes. I wish there was noise, something, but it's quiet too. So quiet. I'd say I could hear my heartbeat, but I can't. Fuck. This cannot mean anything good. . .I better be on the mend. Those doctor's are going to face a shit storm if I'm dead. My ghost will defiantly be of the poltergeist variety. I, mean, honestly, I'm so close to everything! This isn't fair! Goddammit. . . .

I can't cry. . .not now. Can't. . . .Can't do it. Hey, dad, if you're out there? Thanks! Thank you for serving me this heaping pile of bullshit! I really appreciated having to follow you after you left the vault, being exposed to the wastes, the people in the wastes, and, _now_, possible death, _or_, becoming a fucking ghost. Just brilliant! F.Y.I.: Father of the year is not going to you. God.

Maybe if I just concentrated on where I was before here. . .before the white room, then, maybe I'll get back to where I came from? Well, hopefully. Just gotta take deep breaths. . . .Ha! I can't inhale or exhale. Simply peachy. Jesus, what in the name of Grognak is going on here? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I'm at a complete loss. . . . And I absolutely _loath_ being at a loss. (It makes me feel like Butch---brain dead and going no where fast). Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh. I guess Butch wasn't all bad. He_ did_ give me his jacket. . . which, I'm still wearing as I speak, so, "yay for Butch." God, I'm ranting now. Shit! That does it! It's time to take charge. . . .

Hey! Hey, you! Yeah, I'm talking to you, or whatever "divine" forces are listening right now!. . . . Yeah, so, anyway, could you _please_ send me home now? I'd appreciate it. Plus, it'll be so much more fun screwing with me in the wastes! Trust me. Could I ever lie to you omnipotent one? Come on! Just picture it: yours truly, running tail between her legs, from raiders, super mutey freaks, slaver sociopaths, and the occasional wild beast. Doesn't that sound like pure awesomeness? Doesn't that reek of wholesome faimly entertainment? Yeah, thought so. . .Okay, you can send me back now!

Really! You can! Totally have my permission to do that (not that that really matters to you god types). Shit! Please, just send me back to wherever I was before this place! Shit. What? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to click my heels three times, saying that there's no place like home? Right. . .not happening Jesus. First off, I'm_ not_ Dorothy and, secondly, I do _not_ have in my possession her magical teleporting ruby red shoes! Shit. . . .This is hopeless.

Everything's fucked. I probably made it this far as some big cosmic joke or something. God! Why? Why keep me going? Why? Just so you could stick me in the hell hole of the "in-between," or where ever the fuck this is? Yeah. . .Alpha and Omega my ass! You heard me! God . . . Hey! Hey? Why me? Why?

No answer. No sound. Nothing. Just nothing. I. . .I can't stand this silence. It's so hollow. . .like myself. Hollow like my soul. Ha. Ha. Ha. I'm a laugh riot. No, scratch that, I'm pathetic---a complete failure. Fucktastic! Go Gemma! You can really reach for the stars kiddo. Christ.

I wish I wasn't alone here. . . .Couldn't you have sent someone? Why am I left here alone? Why? Come on! ANSWER ME! Please. . . .

Wait? Did. . .did I just hear someone call my name? What? What's going on? What the. . . .I know that voice! But how? It's familiar, yet also so strange. . .no. No, it_ can't_ be. It _can't!_ Mommy? Impossible. . .but, I can hear her. . . . Mom? Mom! MOM! It's. . .it's you! I. . . I can't believe it's_ really_ you! I've missed you so much mom! I've missed you so. . . .


	22. Another Nightmare

Had the dream again, but, this time, it was different. . .Gemma was there with her mother. For nineteen years it's always been the same, perhaps it only changed because Gem's been on my mind? Yes, that has to be it. Still. . . I can't help feeling worried.

But, why should I? Gemma is safe and sound back inside the vault; furthermore, there is no way Alphonse is letting anyone else out of his little sanctuary. No, the residents are all being kept under strict (or, I should say, stricter) surveillance now that I have left the vault, proving to everyone else that, yes, it can be done. Indeed, my escape must be eating away at Alphonse's ego. Thank God for life's simple pleasures.

Even so, in my slumber Gemma looked different---she looked like a wastelander. Her face appeared weather beaten, she was wearing (of all things) Butch's leather jacket, combat boots, a tank top, and cargo pants. And the way she looked at me. It broke my heart. It was an almost accusatory look. . .as if she was saying, "Thanks dad for abandoning me." I remember I tried to touch her, but my hand passed right through her delicate figure. As if she were a ghost. . .like her mother.

Then I saw my beloved. Catherine. Standing as she always does with her favorite bible verse in her hands, only this time she did not hand it to me, she handed it to Gemma. But, not gravely, no, not like with me. . .Catherine presents it as a gift to our daughter. Gemma accepts. Nods. They hug. It is a joyful moment to behold, not a scene of sadness at all.

I would have considered it a pleasant dream except for what happened next. . . .My little one starts to bleed. There is a gunshot wound, so large in her abdomen that I can see through it. My daughter! Catherine cradles Gemma in her arms. I cannot move. I am unable to. . .and Catherine did the strangest thing---she smiled.

Just recalling the hellish image sends chills down my spine; it makes me physically sick to picture it. Yet, Gemma is fine. Secure inside the impenetrable fortress of Alphonse's perfect isolated world. I suppose, I am worried is all. Worried about Project Purity, my daughter, and finally fulfilling my wife's last request. Yes. It all depends on the G.E.C.K. though. I am so close. Soon it will be over and then I can come back for you sweetheart. Gemma. . .I'll be home before you know it. Not that she's in want of company. She has Jonas, Amata, and Lord knows plenty of other friends; in fact, she probably has her hands full being Jonas's apprentice. Yes. I'm only nervous. . . .Thy will be done soon. Soon, my Gemma. Soon.


	23. Just You Wait

*** Kantata, thank you so much for your review! You paid me the ultimate compliment by saying you could hear Liam Neeson's voice when you read my latest drabble. It made me smile, so thanks for that too. ;) Now, without further ado, here's some more Fallout 3 goodness for you all. Enjoy!**

*************

Fuck-a-doodle-doo my fuckin' head hurts. Fuck! Too much Jack Daniels. . .but it didn't seem like a lot. Just enough was what it felt like. Damn. If I'm not careful, I'll end up like ma----shit faced before noon. Goddammit. . . .

At least I don't have to barber the hell outta anybody's hair today. Still, I'm thinkin' that there was something. . .something important or some shit. . . .Oh, yeah, it was some mission of Amata's she wanted me to do. . . .Huh. . . . Well, whatever, it'll come back to me eventually, you know, after my head stops spinning around all over the Goddamn place. Shit and shine-o-la it hurts!

I need some fuckin' TLC, is what I need. There's gotta be some pills around here some where's. Son of a bitch! I'm seeing fuckin' spots now. Christ, I need some mentats, like, since yesterday. Fuckin' brain feels like goo. . .Yeah, and if Gemma were here she'd have something nice to say, like, " Hey, Deloria, why not tell the rest of the class something we didn't already know? I mean, it's no secret that you're shit for brains anyway."

Fuck, why am I missing her insults? Probably because I'm pissed. Yup, just too fuckin' drunk to know any better. Huh. How long's it been since she broke outta here? I know it's been more than four weeks. . .so, more than a month? Jesus.

Well, maybe I'll get to see "Little Miss Perfect" before too long? With the way things are going, I bet Amata's gonna have that vault door open any time now; shit, the girl has the support of us Tunnel Snakes, so it'll be, like, next week I'll get to say see ya to this hell hole. I mean, the Tunnel Snakes can be very persuasive. Fuckin' Overseer needs to watch his back with us hiding in the shadows. Fuck yeah!

Dammit! Ma used up all the freakin' mentats. Nice ma. Thanks. Fuck! I'd go to the doctor's office but that crazy robot will just want to cut open my brains or some shit like that. Fuckin' hate that psycho thing. Fuck. I guess I'll just have to live with this stupid ass headache then. . . .Shit. Well, it could be worse. . .I could be puking on top of everything else. . .yeah.

Well, time to go and bug Amata. I can't remember what the fuck I was supposed to be doing. Fuck, she's gonna love that. God. Ah, well, the sooner I deal with her, the sooner I do what I gotta do, and, then, "bingo" one step closer to freedom! Yeah, ya better watch out Gemma! I'll be on the outside real soon causing my own trouble. Fuck ya!

See, nobody gets rid of Butch Deloria, leader of The Tunnel Snakes that easily. Plus, I want my jacket back. Girl's had it long enough. . .even though she pulled it off real well. Yeah. . .she did. I'll just have to take it off of her once I see her. Yeah. . . .

Fuck, where is this shit coming from? Freakin' hangover's making me think of the weirdest shit. Fuck. Oh, yeah, now I'm really gonna get my jacket back. Just you wait little girl. Just you wait. Butch is coming to get ya and his jacket. Damn straight little girl. Damn straight.


	24. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

It's been two days since I woke up. To put it nicely, I feel like something the Yao Guai dragged in. . . .Apparently, I've been in a coma for over a week. Almost two. Knowing Three Dog, he probably thinks I'm dead. Shit. If he sends a Brotherhood paladin after that satellite of his then I'll never get the information I need out of him! Jesus. Ain't life grand?

I know I'm not supposed to move, that I should stay bed ridden, but I can't---not when so much is at stake. As Burrows put it, "Doctor's make the worst fucking patients." And he's right. We do.

I plan on leaving Underworld as soon as I can. Preferably, the day after tomorrow. Yeah, probably not the smartest decision I've ever made, but I've never boasted that I was, like, as brillant as Einstein or anything. Truth is: I'm behind schedule and I need to do some serious catching up, if I ever want to see my dad again.

I'm not a complete moron though. I _do_ know my limitations and I know that in my awesome condition I won't last a minute on the outside. Furthermore, I'm pretty sure that most of my luck's run out; that I probably couldn't renew my luck even if I strapped a leprechaun to my backside, while wearing a dozen lucky brahmin tails around my neck. Yeah, I need a friend. . .or at least a mercenary. I need someone like Ahzrukhal's bodyguard Charon.

Sure, maybe the guy isn't going to be voted "Mr. Congeniality," but I've asked around about Senior Spooky and all reports say he is one tough customer; plus, that, and he is a devourer of souls, well, according to Patchwork. Anyway, I could use a badass soul eater on my side, with a good eye, killer shot, and a scary "don't-fuck-with-me" attitude. I could. Honest.

The only problem: that bartending asshat Ahzrukhal won't even consider letting Charon go, unless I do something for him. Now, I do not, under _any_ circumstances, want to be on Ahzrukhal's payroll. The very thought repulses me.

If there is one thing I've learned while traversing this Godforsaken excuse for a state, it's that men like Ahzrukhal do not ask for anything more than blood as payment. . .and I refuse to be that bastard's angel of fucking death, okay? Sure, I might have killed people since I was run out of the vault, but I did so to _survive_. I did it because it was either them or me. I am no assassin.

Shit. I need Charon. Fucking fucktarded Ahzrukhal! Fucker. . . .Still, I could always steal Charon's contract. Yeah, then I wouldn't have to barter with Ahzrukhal, lose valuable caps, or dignity. Hmmm. . .sounds good. However, I think my back up plan will be to trade some of the gifts the ghouls have given to me while I was "asleep." Perhaps, with the right number of caps, Ahzrukhal can be persuaded? Shit, everybody's got a price it seems; in fact, that sleazy bastard most definitely has a price, even if he's acting all high and mighty right now.

Either way, I am not leaving Underworld alone. I need Charon in order to finish Three Dog's errand. Who else will help me? Sure, the people here have been kind to me (too kind) but none of them are warriors, and the few that are need to stay to protect their home. I understand this. I respect that. Charon,well, he'd follow me anywhere I asked him to because of his undying devotion to whomever has his contract. God, by saying that I don't feel any different than a common slaver thug. . . .

Ah, shit bricks! Sometimes having a conscious blows some _serious_ chunks. Yet, this is my only option I have if I want to live. . .and, somehow, I _know_ I _have_ to live.

I can't remember what it was I dreamt while I was reduced to a vegetable, but whatever it was changed me. It's like I was shown something important, and whatever that important thing was, well, it's worth fighting for. Call me delusional, but if I die something's telling me that whatever my dad's doing will have been in vain. Yeah, okay, so that makes me sound super humble, but I can't help feeling as I do. . . .I wish I didn't. Life was way easier when I felt I only needed to find my missing father. . .now, it feels like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders.

And why (on top of everything else) am I aching for my mother so much? More so now than ever. . . I guess, missing dad just isn't cutting it for me, so now I must miss my long since dead mother. Shit. Ever since I've been awake she's been at the forefront of my mind, assaulting my thoughts. I miss her. . .mourn her like she died today and _not _nineteen years ago. Fuck. I'm a real emotional wreck, aren't I? A real "together" girl. Well, I need to forget about all of this crap for now. I've got a mission to complete---one I can no longer do alone. Yup, it's time I pack my bags, grab Charon, and get the fuck outta Dodge. Time is wasting.


	25. Come Back Soon!

***Thanks for your reviews jetflight girl, Riven Cole, and Kantata! I really appreciate your positive feedback. It keeps me writing. =D**

***********

Yeah, so Gemma's been gone awhile. . .I'm anxious for her to get back. I know finding her dad is super-duper important and all that, but so is our little survival guide. I'd really like to get it going; the sooner the first chapter's done then the sooner we'll get to the second and so on. Gee, I can hardly contain my excitement! I'm practically dancing in place with anticipation for Gem to come on back. Man. . .I wish she was coming back today. . . .

Oh, well, patience has never been one of my strong suits (which is why some of my experiments end up in explosions). I remember this one time I wanted to see what would happen when nuka-cola quantum, hairspray, jet, and sugar bombs were combined. . .yeah, I knew it'd probably end in a big "boom," but I was surprised it was a big purplish-green "boom." It sure was colorful. . .and it was the darndest goop to get off the walls. At least the smell wasn't that bad. Reminded me of a sweet meaty smell; plus, it made me super hungry. I think I gained ten pounds because of how hungry I got because of it. . .Hmmm. . . .

Any-who, I hope Gemma's making her way back to civilization. I'd start on our little project myself, but I've just been swamped with customers lately. It's like everybody and their bodyguard wants one of my custom weapon these days. I'm not complaining though; in fact, it makes me feel all gooey inside knowing people like my weapons of destruction. What more could a girl want? Well, besides publishing a Wasteland Survival Guide. . . .

I've even asked Eric (my own personal mercenary) to head over to Super Duper Mart, but all he said was, "Listen Lady, you don't pay me enough caps for me to risk my neck out there for some stupid book of yours. Sorry." Well, you can't say Eric isn't direct when he wants to be. Bless him.

Well, Gemma will be back soon enough. She's not the type of person to walk out on a promise, or as she put it, "One crazy business venture." She sure is a sweetheart and really has a way with words. It was so nice what she said to Eric before she left, "Try not to collect too much dust while I'm gone Statue Boy." Yeah, she sure is good with people. I wish I was. . .I think my personality frightens some people.

It's just, the world is so fascinating! I can't contain my eagerness to discover something new and wonderful. Yes, I've tried to hold it in, but then that can get overwhelming. . .and it gives me gas. Yeah, no, I'm not a big fan of indigestion. That's why I don't eat or drink at Moriarty's. I'm sure I've caught him peeing in his still late at night. . .Icky.

Hmmm. . .I wonder how Gemma would feel about a chapter on mole rats? I've got this great idea to make a stick that repels those cutie pies. It's so sad how everyone kills them. . .they're just hungry. I've managed to befriend a mole rat or two by sharing a couple of brahmin steaks with them. Sadly, because the mole rats relied too much on my kindness, they began to surround Megaton. Oh, it was awful! Jericho, Moriarty, Eric, and Lucas Simms went out and shot every last one of them. . .poor dears. Yeah, I'm going to get started on this repellent stick idea of mine. Little mole rats deserve better than death. . .and I'm sure Gemma will be more than happy to try out the prototype for me. Yeah! Oh, now I'm just so excited I could explode! Isn't science fun?


	26. I Live to Serve

*** Riven Cole, your review was so sweet, but don't sell yourself short! Keep writing. With each story you create, you improve. Trust me. ;) **

***********

This damn job is a joke. . .all of these slobs are harmless drunks. I wish Ahzrukhal would die or sell my contract or something. I'm bored with his bullshit. . .and I'm sick of the sight of him. Ugly fucker. (And if your ugly by ghoul standards than your ugly).

If only duty didn't keep me bound to those who hold my papers. Yeah, some of them weren't too bad, like Jerry King, that guy who'd rescue children from slavers. He was pretty okay. Or Sharon Tweed. She was this middle aged scientist who hired me as her muscle; she made the most interesting chemicals. But, shit, Ahzrukhal is one nasty fuck. I swear, the first thing I plan on doing when my contract gets sold (if I'm ever that lucky) is kill the son-of-a-bitch. Being his bouncer, well, I've learned some pretty nasty things about him. . .some pretty nasty goddamn things.

About five years ago the shithead made me eliminate an old nemesis of his. Turns out, all this old nemesis had done was stiff Ahzrukhal on caps once. I think his life was worth about eight caps because I also had to take eight caps off the guy's body. It's times like these I wish I wasn't what I am---an underling. I bow to the whims of the free, powerful, and ruling class; I obey my masters without question, or my soul is forfeit. Not very fucking fair, but that's life.

I learned why I am the way I am from my first master. He was this mean old Chinese soldier, and he said, "Boot licker! Do not cry. Such things are only for people not animals. You put yourself here by committing an unspeakable crime in your past life. This is your punishment!" I guess whatever I did must've been pretty bad. . . .Fuck, I was reborn as a fucking pet to be used, abused, and then discarded like trash. Well, as Master Suga said, I must have deserved my fate. . .I'm Ahzrukhal's fucking patsy right now, what more is there to say? If I deserve him then I'll endure him.

I wouldn't mind enduring him if his bar had more action in it though. Shit. It's long work doing absolutely nothing. All I seem to do is stare off into space, while trying to look menacing. Yeah, but I think I got the menacing part down real good. I made Patchwork pee himself last night just by glancing at him. It was fuckin' hilarious. If laughter wasn't permitted I'd have laughed a hell of a long time, that's for damn sure.

At least things have been more interesting since that smooth skin showed up. Sure, she's about as charming as a bloatfly, but I love watching her give Ahzrukhal a run for his money. Fuckin' kid talks rings around the asshole. Here's hoping she nicks my contract from him. Killing that dickhead would make my fuckin' day; not to mention it make my shotgun Sally real happy too.

Ah, hell! Patchwork is puking all over himself again. . .great. Time to do my master's bidding, and get that pathetic alcoholic sap outta here. Good for me. . . .I live to serve.


	27. Missing Tricks and Treats

*** Thanks again for your reviews and awesome support. You guys rock! Now for a very special holiday inspired drabble. I hope all of you like it. ;D**

*************

I often remember when I was little girl, so many years ago. I had a loving father, mother, and a sweet doggie named Bristol. The world was magical then. . .I took for granted how magical it really was. . . .

I dismissed the trees with their green leaves and hidden treasures, like apples, or pears; I carelessly plucked the petals off of fragile flowers; I ignored the deep blue inky beauty of the water---Yes, in my youth I ran careless through a world (that at the time) I thought would last forever.

I was wrong.

The Great War came, and, in an instant, I lost my girlhood, my loving father, mother, and faithful companion Bristol. Everything I had ever loved was destroyed. . .including, the life of normality which I had clung to so hard, and so fast.

Sure, unlike the others, I made myself continue to go on when my skin began to peel away from my face. It was as if the Great War had begun another war deep inside of me, and that was the war on whether to keep on living or not. . . .

It was hard losing my hair, teeth, my delicate feminine voice. . .even harder realizing I was becoming a member of the "walking dead." No better than a damn zombie; in fact, sometimes I'd laugh hysterically when it occurred to me that I had become what I was most afraid of. . .a monster.

In fact, the last Halloween I spent with my family I was told to face my fear: my father made me dress up as a blood dripping ghoul. Ironic really. Although, I did get some of the best candy I ever got thanks to that costume. . . .

Oh, how I miss Halloween! There are no more children here in Underworld, my Gob having left so many years ago. I used to make him costumes then take him to each ghoul we'd see, and he'd say, "Trick or treat!" So sweet my Gob. . .I miss him something awful. Each year, when children were still running barefoot and fancy free in our humble ghoulish home, us ancient adults would even dress up. We also used to have wonderful Halloween parties. I sure do miss that radioactive nuka-cola punch Winthrop used to make. He never did tell me the recipe. . . .Shame.

Now, another year is going by, and another Halloween is being forgotten. I've pleaded with Greta for us to throw a party, but all she said was, "Honey, nobody's gonna come. _You_ know that and _I _know that. There just isn't any reason for us ghouls to do it anymore, now that that son of yours and his friends are gone; plus, it's depressing. No matter what we put on, well, there's no hiding that fact that underneath our disguises lurk our true ghoulish nature."

God, if I didn't love my Greta so much I could've slugged her. . . .Why she's so insecure, I just don't know. Not once has she ever opened up about her life before she and I became one. . .Greta. . .so breakable (though she doesn't show it to anybody but me).

If _only_ I could get her to see that love is boundless then maybe. . .maybe my Gobby could come back? I pray every night that soon he'll walk through the doors of Underworld, to stay with me forevermore. Perhaps that's why I want Halloween to be celebrated so badly? That, if it get's acknowledged, if Greta could_ just_ agree to a little costume party bash, then (maybe just maybe) she'd agree to other things as well! And she'd learn that it wasn't always about tricking, but also treating others (not just on Octobe the thirty-first) but all year round, that makes life so special!

Oh, how I yearn for some sort of celebration. . .Still, I can dream. . .and even if nothing is done, I'll still do something for myself. Maybe I'll dress up as a witch this year? By dressing up there's a good possibility I could inspire my patrons to embrace I can also the spirit of the season? Who knows? Stranger things have happened here, like the arrival of that smooth skin girl.

So odd, yet so marvelous how she has reignited this communities ability to share, give, and care about the world outside our own safe haven! I never thought our community could accept someone like her, but we have. I know I certainly have. She even makes me wish Gob had had a sister when he was growing up; in fact, someone with her spunk would've been a good influence on Gobby.

Hmmm. . . . Wouldn't it be lovely if she knew Gob? Unlikely, I know. Well, I need to introduce myself before this Gemma leaves. She's got such spirit and that's something I can_ definitely_ appreciate. Plus, with All Hallows Eve approaching, Underworld could use some spiritedness to insipire us into the spookiest of seasons . . .I know it'd make us all happier. It'd make me happy and happiness is a commodity these days; in fact, Halloween seemed to rekindle that spark of wonder I had when I was a child, and the world was still my playground, not some hell hole to be endured.


	28. Jane Doe's Lament

*** Fire Kunai! It was so good hearing from you again! You're reviews are some of my favorites. Also, thank you Riven Cole for your review. What you wrote was so kind. =) I'm glad that you all seemed to like my Halloween inspired/Carol centered drabble. Here's hoping you'll like this one as well. Read on, if you dare. ;) **

***********

I hated her since I can remember. . .always so damn superior to the rest of us. Such a smartass too. Ms. Perfect. Ha! Perfectly ugly if you ask me; such a mousy chick, only opening her mouth to insult somebody. She isn't even _classically_ beautiful!

Her hair is a dark disgusting brown color. (The color of shit.) As for her skin, it's shockingly pale. I'd even wager that she's paler than the rest of us locked inside this damn tomb of ours; in fact, one of my nicknames for her was "ghost girl." Butch loved that one. As for her eyes? A flat grey color. The color of steel. I like to think her eyes are that way so they can reflect how uncouth she is. . .ya know, bland. In a word, well, she (and her friend) are big fat losers.

I mean, they got nice marks in class for Christ sake! Only teacher's pets (because I _swear_ there was some favoritism going on) got good grades. Mr. Brock must've loved those freaks. Loved 'em. God, he was_ always_ commenting on how they finished their projects on time and all that crap. But, maybe, he had to like them? Ya know, protect his own loser kind and all that jazz? Yeah. . .that would make some sense. . .I mean, Brock's pretty pathetic too. Plus, the dick never gave me an A in my life! Jerk.

Jesus! And thanks to Gemma and Amata, life in the vault has become even _more_ unbearable. Awful ugly Gemma had to run her dad out of the vault, create all this chaos, and then leave her friend in charge. Shit. I knew Amata was annoying to begin with, but she's gotten worse (no, worser) since Gemma left. Shit. She's no better then her father. . .although, I think the Overseer dislikes Gemma about as much as I do, so I guess he isn't as stupid as his daughter. . . .

And Butch. . .well, he's different now too. I mean, sure, he didn't like Gemma either, but he's always bringing her up when we fool around. . .when we do anything actually. But, maybe it was always this way. . . .When conversation would lapse he'd mention her (usually at what stupid thing she'd done or said about him) and then she'd be all we'd talk about. I used to write it off at how much he hated her but, now, I'm having doubts. I mean, I was his girl. . .am his girl. I dunno.

Somehow, I always had this feeling about him. . .that I was that girl he fucked, but didn't really care about; that I could be just about anybody to him. The thought hurts. Hurts even worse than a switchblade to the wrists. . . .God, and it'll hurt even more if he likes that loser over me.

I mean, I'm pretty. I've got nice fair hair, big baby blue eyes, and my skin isn't pale, but porcelain. I'm delicate for shit sake! I'm a goddamn lady compared to Gemma. I mean, that girl was also such a tomboy on top of everything else. Always sneaking off to fire her B. B. gun. Loser.

What do I care? She's not coming back anyway. I'm gonna be Mrs. Deloria. Not her. Not ever. Anyways, why am I suddenly thinking so obsessively about that trash? It's probably stress that's making me think Butch thinks to much about her. . .yeah. That's it! She's not his type neither. I am. I'm the one he holds at night when he needs somebody to hold. . .and if that's all I'll ever be, well, at least I'll be that with a ring on my finger someday. It'll happen. . .hopefully, before the vault's opened. I get the feeling he'll leave without me otherwise. . . .

************

*** Okay, if some of you are confused about this drabble, well, here's why: It's because this was in the perspective of a noncanon character. Yeah, she's one of my own creation. (Please, don't be upset!) **

**I tried to ignore the need to write this piece, but I just couldn't help myself. This unknown voice kept speaking to me and would not leave me alone, so I wrote her. I gave this Jane Doe a voice in which to speak her grievences. Sorry! She had a mind of her own.**

**Anyway, I'm glad I did write this drabble because I wanted to shed some more light on Butch's feelings for Gemma. I also wanted to achieve this point without having it done in Butch's own voice; in fact, I doubt Butch understands his real feelings for our Lone Wanderer. (He's a tad slow when it comes to these things).**

**As a final note, I hope none of you are too upset with me about this. I hope you all know that I won't just create random characters and insert them into my drabble. You see, I like doing things by the book. Scouts honor! (This was simply a one time thing.) But, for any of you that enjoyed Jane's_ unique_ perspective on vault life, don't worry, you'll be seeing her again. She'll be one of my many characters living within my own Fallout 3 story----where she belongs. **

**Anywho, sorry if this drabble was a let down in any way. I hope you all keep following my story. Take care! And thank you all for your support and patience! You've all been so good to me. *Hugs* Now, to work on my next installment. . . . **


	29. If At First You Don't Succeed, Try Again

*** Riven Cole, here are the websites you requested. . .again: associatedpress, helium, and lulu. Sorry that they didn't send the first time. Also, if anyone wants to pm me, I've enabled that in my account now. (Yeah, I _thought_ it was enabled already. Oops!) Any-who, here's more from our favorite Lone Wanderer Gemma. ;) Read on, review (hopefully), and enjoy! **

*************

Two thousand caps! God. . . .I can't believe that asshole asked for that much. It's fucking robbery is what it is. Bastard. You know what? Fuck it! I'm going to steal that damn contract of Charon's. Even with all the trading I've done, I only have one thousand caps to spare. . . .The rest of the money needs to be used for emergency situations (which is like everyday in this brutal wasteland).

Fuck. The only other option Ahzrukhal gave me was snuffing out his competition---literally. That creep. I knew I was right about him; I could feel it in my guts. He wants me in his pocket, to be his damn puppet on a string. Sorry. Not gonna happen dickweed.

Sure, I may not like Greta, but I could never kill her. Yeah, she's terse, mean, obsessive over Carol, territorial, and she's the reason Gob's Moriarty's bitch. . .but, it's not my place to do away with her. (If Gob's ever free that'll be his business.) And, secondly, I don't want her blood on my hands; I've got one too many blood stains soaked into the life lines of my palms already. . . . .

Well, if I want to stay on schedule I've gotta sneak into The Ninth Circle tonight, and lock pick my way into Ahzrukhal's safe. I hope it isn't going to be too hard. I guess, I could always bribe the patrons with booze to ask them where the damn key is? Yeah, like those drunks and jet fiends are gonna give your's truly any real solid intel. Shit bricks. . . .

I wonder? What about that elusive Mr. Crowley? Sure, he strikes me as a total unhinged individual, but I can sense his absolute hatred for Ahzrukhal. (Plus, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?)

I'll see if I can track Crowley down. I'll talk to him and see what he can tell me. . . .Still, I'm sensing that (along with everybody else I've ever met) he's gonna ask me to do him a favor. Here's hoping it's nothing too immoral. . .yeah, right. Well, maybe I can tip toe around the "unsavory" part of his proposition, and do things my way? I can be smooth when I want to be. . .at least, I hope so.

Huh. Fuck. Why all the self doubt all of a sudden? Gemma, you can do this. You'll sweet talk Mr. "Mysterious Nut-bar" Crowley, you'll get Charon's contract, and then retrieve Three Dog's precious satellite. Yeah. . . .I can do this. I can. Perhaps the girl I used to be couldn't, but who I am now can; in fact, I'm beginning to thing that innocent part of me died as soon as I inhaled the stale air of the wastes.

Okay, here I come Ahzrukhal. . .and when I'm done with you, you're going to wish you'd given me that contract for one thousand caps. Oh, well, you made your choice. Now, it's my turn to kick you in the balls for it. . . .or at least kick you in the area where your balls used to be. . . .So, you better be wearing some padding down there. I've got a mean kick. (And I'm not lying, I've kicked Butch enough times to know. Plus, once he actually cried when I hit his "little" tunnel snake. It was glorious). Right. Here I come, and I mean business. Damn skippy I do. Damn skippy.


	30. Say Uncle

*** Hey, everyone! Thanks for the reviews and for following my story. You guys are the best! **

***********

That smooth skin girl Gemma got my contract now. (I don't know how she did it, and I don't really care neither). The important thing is I got to snuff out Ahzrukhal's flame with two clean clear shots to the head. . . .Hey, I wasn't his patsy anymore, so why not? Fucker owed me some sort of worker's comp.

Now, the kid and I are on our way to get some hokey satellite at The Museum of Technology for that Three Dog character. I guess the disc jockey wants more listeners. Gemma said something about "the good fight," but I don't believe in that bullshit; in fact, I'd bet that's just something Three Dog's selling. (Unless he's so delusional he actually believes his own press now).

Whatever. All I care about is seeing some honest action. That place is going to be overrun with super mutants. . .and I'm tingling all over with excitement. Shit, it's been way too damn long since I've taken down one of those big bastards. I'm itching for a fight; plus, nothing says happiness like a warm gun----Beatles weren't lying about that.

What's going to take away from the joy of the kill is having to save my new master's ass all the damn time. Sure, I've heard how tough as nails this Gemma is, but that wound of hers is bound to slow her down. Yeah, my "mistress" puts up a pretty good front about how it's, "only a flesh wound," but I've been around the block a few times to know that it's more than a flesh wound. That bandaged wound of hers looks like one nasty motherfuckin' wound. (It smells too.)

At least this smooth skin is of the smart variety. I mean, she isn't as annoyingly hopeless as some of my past employers. For starters, she can handle a gun, has apparent medical training, and is damn smooth with people, especially merchants. Fuck. She's even managed to charm the pants off of every single ghoul in Underworld. . .well, all except for Ahzrukhal and that wacko Crowley.

I mean, I can sense there's some sort of understanding between the two of them, but I can also sense that the two of them don't really like the other. In fact, the kid looks downright disgusted whenever Crowley's name gets brought up in conversation . . . . . It's all pretty sketchy. And I have this gut feeling that Gemma and I are gonna have to do something for that unhinged dirt bag. . .fuck, what smooth skins get themselves (and me) into these days.

Whatever. I'm focused on one thing---Gemma's latest mission. I'm ready to let the blood flow. Hang onto your assholes you mutey bastards! Uncle Charon's back in town and there ain't no toys in his bag of tricks for you. Nope. All I've got his a whole lot of ass kicking to deliver, and that's the way I like it kiddies. . .hard, rough, and bloody.


	31. Revenge Awaits

Revenge, they say it's a dish best served cold. . . . It isn't. In fact, revenge itself is best devoured hot so one can savor the pleasant tang of retribution on the tip of the tongue. It also shouldn't be a fast execution. Oh no. It needs to be a slow, painful, and an indulgent experience for the one inflicting the pain----you. Why? Well, why the hell not?

The rat your exterminating never treated you right; furthermore, they were complete double crossing assholes that deserve to suffer for their mercilessness. These bastards aren't worth your mercy or forgiveness. Fuck! Why waste such precious feelings on them? Fucking fucktarded fucks the lot of them. . .and I should know, I've been screwed over real good myself.

Once, when I used to be a man (and not this rotting shell of one) I was one real tough customer. Strong, athletic, crafty, fast, and real good with my revolver. Fuck, I could shoot the wings off of a blowfly if I wanted to! I was good. Real good. The way I made my living was by doing the odd mercenary job now and then. (And, trust me, I was so fucking aces that I was never in want of work babe). I was the fucking king of the mountain was what I was. . .but not anymore.

Not since a certain contract came my way, and I was forced to trust a bunch of strangers with my life. Goddamn Tenpenny and his goddamn _beloved_ weapon. Fuck. It was because of him, along with his trusted ragtag team of guns for hire, that I'm a fucking zombie!

You see, me, an egotistical fuck named Dave, a Russian sleaze ball called Dukov, one bitchy lady Tara Fields, and a complete douche Jeff Strayer were all hired by that asshole Tenpenny to find a certain weapon of mass destruction for him. Apparently, this certain weapon was located at Fort Constantine, an old army weapons outpost. What us poor saps _didn't_ know was that this fucking fort was overrun with fucking feral ghouls.

Yeah. . .I guess it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next-----we were boned. Out numbered, out gunned, and (sadly for Tara and I) out manned.

Fucking Dave, Dukov, and Strayer just went apeshit; goddamn fuckers decided to shoot anything that fucking moved, including teammates. Shit. I swear, the reason Tara didn't make it out was because her boy toy Dukov accidentally shot her in the shoulder. Fuck.

After traversing hallway after dank hallway with these batch of "winners", I found Tenpenny's weapon----a fat man the likes of which I'd never seen before. Fucker was fucking fat. So, somehow, my teammates and I managed to move that fucking thing out of the bomb storage room then Tara and I headed back into said room. Why you ask? Well, all of us decided after the hellish day we'd had we deserved to raid us some goodies; plus, I had my eye on the most beautiful looking armor I've ever seen: T-51 Power Armor.

Anyway, just as things started to look better and we think our luck has changed, we get ambushed by some more fucking ferals. Fucking great, right? Well, Tara went down pretty fast because of her shoulder wound, and that left the rest of us running for the door. Of course, with_ my_ fucking luck I tripped over some corpses, and landed on my ass. I screamed for help, but none of my companions seemed to hear me. . . .

Before I knew it, I hear Dukov say I'm, "dead meat anyways," so those geniuses shut the fucking door on me! The bastards shut me away with the fucking ghouls! Left me for dead (or worse)! Fuckers. The jokes on them though----I survived and I'm thirsty for revenge.

Thanks to that Gemma chick, I think I'm _finally_ gonna get it too. In exchange for where Ahzrukhal hid Charon's contract, well, she gets to track down every one of those bastards and shoot 'em in the head. After she kills the fuckers she'll collect their keys, hand them over to me, and then I can go back to Fort Constantine, get my power armor, and kill Tenpenny. Hallelujah.

Anyway, seeing things from a ghouls perspective shows me that all smooth skins deserve to suffer. I'm gonna make that tower of Tenpenny's for ghouls only. Fuck yeah. . .and if any smooth skin prick enters it then they'll be shot right between their baby blues. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I can't wait for that Gemma kid to start working for me; in fact, I wish she wasn't already engaged or else I would have forced her to start my mission pronto. Fucking kid and her fucking "obligations." The way she looked at me, I knew I disgusted her, but she needed what I was selling. But, really, she shouldn't of acted all high and mighty because she's not all that fucking wonderful either.

You know what? If I still find her annoying after I collect my armor then perhaps I'll kill her too? Yeah. . .I just might do that. You see, I'm not about to shovel shit with a smile anymore more. Fuck no! I've taken all the crap I can take, so now it's my turn to share the wealth----and that's something I know I can do real well too.


	32. Troubled

***Thanks Riven Cole for your reviews. ;) Now, read on!**

**********

I miss her everyday. God, I've never felt more alone in my life until now. It's like, everybody's turning to me for guidance when I really don't know what it is I'm doing. I guess, I'm just taking chances. . .like _she _would've done.

Jesus. Plus, every Tom, Dick, and Harry has something to say about how I'm running things; for instance, Butch _certainly_ has_ his_ fair share of comments (and none of them that helpful either). Gee, Butch. . . .I don't know about this. I mean, is it really such a good idea to de-face the security teams' uniforms and private property? I dunno. . .especially when our relations with said security team are already pretty shaky? Yeah. . .no. Not gonna happen tunnel boy. Damn. . . .If I didn't need his muscle or his charisma then I'd have handed him over to vault security myself; in fact, Lord knows all those guys are dying for a piece of Tunnel Snake ass to kick---and they're all gunning for it to be Deloria's ass.

Shit. I wish we had more people on our side. Why can't the other residents see that my father is the cause of all this crap? No. Better to blame Gemma, her dad, and us rebels. We_ had_ to stir the pot. We just _had_ to be different didn't we?

What really blows my mind is that some people act as if my father was some sort of hero or something in all this! It's like. . .really? Come on people! Wake up and smell the coffee! It was_ our_ all powerful Overseer that ordered vault security to shoot first and ask questions later. It was _the_ Overseer that ran Gemma out of town, plus her dad. It was_ the_ Overseer that let the radroaches run rampant. . .oh, and it was_ the_ Overseer that had Jonas beaten to a bloody pulp. Not me. Not Gem. Not her father. No. . .it was all_ my_ father's doing. Blame him, but shit _don't _praise him!

Because of him family members, friends, and coworkers are dead. I'm his daughter so why is it I can see it, but not any of you? I mean, fuck! I can see how he's cost us medical care; indeed, because of him we all must rely on our Mr. Handy robot when sick or injured. I swear, that robot is more like a crazed butcher than a physician. (Yeah, he's not coming any where near me with that scalpel of his. After witnessing what he did to Kellie McDonald's wounded ankle, I think I'll tough out any minor sprains from now on).

Thank God for what little support I have though. It's just. . .I'd feel better if Gemma were here too. It'd make my life a whole lot eaiser, espcially when dealing with my dad. Fucking asshole of a father treats me like a child whenever we meet! He simply will _not_ listen to reason, no matter how many times I try to state my case.

What he needs to do is agree with me. The vault _needs_ to be opened! Us residents deserve to see what's going on out there; furthermore, we _have_ to know what it is we're up against. God only knows what's roaming around out there since the Great War. . . .Also it's just stupid to think we'll be able to survive like this for much longer anyway.

I mean, I'm not so into the whole "inbreeding" concept. (Can you say hello to cocktails in Appalachia? Ick.) Get with the program dad! Eventually we're all gonna die out if we stay confined. I say, let's find love outside the family. I say, let's go in search of new blood before we, you know, all become family on the inside of this vault, okay?

Shit, if anyone could twist his hand it would be Gemma. . . . Sounds crazy, but she just had this way with words. I think she could even charm the pants off a deranged sideshow clown if she wanted to (and Gemma always hated clowns).

I hope she's all right. Her help is urgently needed; in fact, she's been on the outside, so who better to convince my stupidass father to open our doors? Plus, we have got to trade with someone soon. This vault is running low on food, meds, and other necessities.

You know what? I think I'm going to discuss putting out an emergency broadcast in hopes of reaching Gemma. Maybe, if she's still alive, Gem will hear it, and come back to help her old friends out. . .like me. Christ! Be alive Gemma. Please, be alive! If your dead then this vault will never be free; and I'll have lost the last real family I have left---you.

Shit. . . Gem. You've always been more than a friend. You're more like a sister. . . .Come home Gemma! There's trouble brewing on the home front, and I can't put out the flames by myself anymore. (Believe me, I've tried. I end up getting burned, while the flames just keep getting higher and higher). Come back Gem. . .I promise, no clown jokes. Just. . .still be surviving okay? I need you, and so does the rest of Vault 101. We're troubled without you; we're troubled and lost in the fire of my father's madness. We need you to put out the flames. We need peace. We need a miracle. We need you.

*********

*** I hope I didn't offend anyone with the "cocktails in Appalachia" comment. Sorry if I did! I, in no way, view the people of Applachia as those that practice incest etc. It's just an old expression I've heard on the subject. Again, I did not mean to offend anybody. I am so sorry if I did. **


	33. Lyon's Pride

*** RumAndNukaCola, thank you so much for your review! You were too kind. I'm glad you are enjoying my drabbles. **

**Tonight's particular one-shot was inspired by Veteran's Day; furthermore, I dedicate it to all our brave soldiers past and present. Thank you for your patriotism, sacfrice, and courage----you are true heros, all of you. God Bless.**

************

Sometimes I wonder if I should be in command anymore? I'm old and tired. . .so tired. If I didn't feel as if I'd failed the people of D.C. then perhaps I would retire. I know Sarah would make a brilliant leader; in fact, I'm certain she'll be more capable of leading the Brotherhood into battle than I ever was. Yet, I have miles to go before I sleep. . . .

I will _not_ rest until I discover where those damn super mutants are coming from! No matter how many mutants we kill, they just keep coming back, stronger than ever before. Those super mutants. . .I swear, sometimes I wonder whether they're spawned from one of Dante's loathsome circles of Hell. . . .

But, Jesus! _Where are they coming from?_ I've been at the Citadel for more than a decade (almost two) and I am none the wiser as to the location of the mutants' base. Where God? Where is it? And what do they want with all those helpless civilians? The brutes abduct too many poor souls at once, and I'd wager that not all of the people they capture are just for food either. . . .Such thoughts weigh heavy on my soul.

I simply _cannot_ understand how my brothers in California, or even my former friends, now Outcasts, could ignore the plight of the civilians around us? Is it not _our _purpose to fight for the well being of our fellow man? Yes, I understand that technology is important to our cause; indeed, it is so we can continue to progress, but what about the people? How about being what we are as a whole----fellow countrymen? When it comes right down to it: we are American soldiers, and once upon a time American soldiers stood for something more than scavenging.

Long ago, soldiers were men and women willing to risk their lives for their country; gallant individuals willing to sacrifice their own personal happiness, so they could spread the values of freedom, democracy, and goodwill to those less fortunate than they. Furthermore, these souls cared for their brothers and sisters back home. They fought, bled, and died for their fellow Americans! Aren't those the very values which we should be following as well? Isn't that what The Brotherhood is based on? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but didn't we originate from such sacred beliefs? Did we not come from them? Are we not their future embodiment? Aren't we _not_ American soldiers?

Yes, say I have gone soft for I know I have become a feeble old man. . .a man that has had many failures, but I also know that my ultimate failure would be to ignore the past as well as the present. The weak and weary should be able to turn to The Brotherhood of Steel for protection, strength, and for humanity. _We_ are what keeps the monsters at bay; _we_ are what keeps the light of liberty burning brightly; _we_ are the hope for our fellows to fight onwards for a better tomorrow. _We_ are the symbol of American patriotism and liberty, and no one else----we are all that remains.

I vow to never abandon these principals. . .I ignored them in my youth, but now I am atoning for my stupidity and past transgressions. And so help me God, if there is one mistake I will _not_ let my daughter make it is ignoring the cries of the hungery, sick, and the oppressed. Yes, my Sarah is the future. In her I see honor restored to The Brotherhood, and in her I see what America once was-----a country built on principal.

Lord, please. . . . Please say I shall finish the fight I began all those years ago; indeed, I weep for not having ended my battle sooner. I pray for the demise of those super mutant brutes, so the people of the wastes (of America) can be safe once more. Then, and only then, will I be able to rest with my fallen comrades who have already died for liberty, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness. Yes, for this I'll keep on fighting, ignoring the weariness I feel within my lions heart, the loneliness lurking within my soul, and the pressure of mankind weighing heavy on my shoulders. . . .Yes, I fight because my love for my fellow man is greater than my aching bones-----I fight because it is my sacred duty and my honor to defend my beloved America. For her I soldier on, never to quit, and never to surrender.


	34. And Now For This Important Announcement

*** Thanks to Riven Cole for the suggestion to add some of Three Dog's actual in-game dialogue. It made this piece ten times better! Thanks! Oh, yes, and I give full credit to the writers of Fallout 3 when it comes to the dialogue they wrote that I inserted into my drabble. Those well crafted sentences are all theirs. **

********** **

Attention! Attention! People of the Capital Wasteland, you can HEAR MEEEE!!!! Your's truly, the DJ with the most, the Dog with the biggest bark, and the meanest growl is back on the airwaves. Yes, it is I children----THREE DOG! Yeeeaa haaaa!!! Daddy is home and he is ready to tell it like it is.

That's right, from Megaton to Girdershade, Paradise Falls to the Republic of Dave, we are coming to you loud and proud, in a special live report! But Three Dog! You're in that cool radio studio in D.C. How do YOU know I can hear you, all the way out here in the ass end of nowhere? Because of the kid from Vault 101, that's how! Yeah, that kid _actually _managed to repair our antenna relay. How's that for ingenuity, folks? From here on in, it's bye-bye stupid static, hello magnificent music.

Now, thanks to that Vault 101 gal, all of my future broadcasts can be heard (once again) anywhere in the greater D.C. area. Think of it as an early Christmas present kiddies; in fact, think of 101 as your own personal Santa Claus. She's _even _got herself her own little helper to follow her around and assist her in spreading the "good cheer" out in Capital Shit-hole.

Anyway, this elf's name is Charon. Don't get him confused with any cute and loveable elves though my faithful flock 'cause by elf, I meant ghoul, and by cheery, I meant one mean S.O.B. Oh yeah, kiddies that Charon (much like that vault kid) sure knows how to "play" out in the field (if you catch my innuendo). . .and he plays _best_ with a certain lass named Sally---his shotgun.

Hey, and take it from a cat who knows:_ Don't_ insult Sally. But why Three Dog? Well, for starters she's one fine lady, and secondly children, she's got one helluva killer instinct, ya dig? I swear, if crossed that Sally will give you more than a headache; in fact, she's liable to cut your fucking head clean off! So, word to the wise, be _nice_ to Sally and her best guy Charon, for they're both deadly folks.

But anyways, it's because of Sally, and our two merry gunslingers that I have been delivered to all the good boys and girls of the wastes. Can you say, "Deck the halls," children? Because I can. Deck them fucking halls! Yeeeaa haaaa!!! Christmas has come early children! Christmas has come early!

Thank you 101, and thanks to your friends too. You delivered when old Three Dog thought you'd ripped yourself a new asshole somewhere. Good job kid! That satellite is working like a charm; it's even making this Dog want to bay at the moon, I'm so fucking giddy.

You know what? I might just do that! I'll have myself a special broadcast tonight where I _do _howl up at that bright ass moon of ours. I _am_ the Sultan of Swing, the King of rock n' roll, and the Man with the Blues in the Palm of his Hand---Three Dog! And I can do pretty much whatever the fuck I want, right kiddies? And right now, I'd like to do Gemma (our favorite runt from a certain vault we all know) a solid.

Okay, kid, now listen to Old Three Dog: I want you to hang in there. You'll find your daddy soon enough. I mean, your _the _enigmatic Vault Renegade, who _only _recently stepped out of the vault and into our lives, and have accomplished some pretty daring shit since then just to see that old man of yours. You've got what it takes girl! Don't go losing heart now. . . .

Oh, yeah, and (while I'm at it) I've got a message for Gemma's dad too. You see, James, your kid's out there man, _and_ she's looking for _you._ That spitfire of a daughter of your's has gone through Hell and high water trying to find you----because she's worried sick about you. Sure, 101 puts up a tough front, but you're all she's got left. That vault of yours kicked her out. The bastards. But, your baby girl's a fighter James. . .and she's fighting the good fight (much like her daddy).

So, if you're listening? Do me a favor: hold off on your plans for awhile man. Wait for your daughter. She's coming, and she's bringing the thunder.

Plus, your kid fucking loves you man. A total daddy's girl if there ever was one. Come on James! Now's the time to make it up to 101. Shit, you _did_ leave her in an underground bunker, right? Right. Well, then, go give her a great big Papa Bear hug or something! That kid deserves one.

Okay, my little heart to heart is over. Just got one last thing to say though. . .here goes. HEY! 101! See? I might be bad, but I'm _so_ bad I'm good. And, you know what else kid? I think you deserve a new nick-name, one worthy of the trials you've faced out here in this big bad world of ours. Hmmm. . . . How about, _The Lone Wanderer_? It has a nice ring to it doesn't it kid? Anyway, if ya don't like it, well, too bad. You're stuck with it. Tough titties.

Yeah, and Miss Lone Wanderer, you get your ass back to GNR, you hear me? We've got some stuff to talk about! Three Dog has a Christmas gift of his own for ya! (And it's worth the trek back to my humble abode, trust me). Now, children it's time to sit back, relax, and absorb these classic tunes.


	35. Not Asking for Much

I have grown impatient with that dolt Andrew Stahl. It has been over a month, yet that atomic eyesore remains; it continuously taunts me at the center of town. God, what an abhorrent repulsive monument to man's destructive past-----and to me.

Now, I've always fashioned myself a patient individual, never asking for too much. I enjoy life's simple pleasures: bitter black coffee, well shined shoes, a collection of fedoras, and for tasks to be done in a timely orderly fashion. Certainly such things aren't too obtuse? No. It wasn't as if I were asking for the second coming.

All I wanted from that stooge Stahl was some respect; in fact, I'd wager that if Stahl respected me then Megaton would be little more than ash by now. Tisk. Tisk. Tisk. Andy. Tisk. Tisk. Tisk.

Poor lad. He has upset me, which is an unfortunate fate for him. Sure, I can be a forgiving soul, but I have been the modicum of forgiveness these last few weeks. Perhaps that was a mistake of mine? I was too soft with the boy because Andrew himself seemed to need constant reassurance. It was pathetic how reliant he became to my good will. Sap. I only humored him and his desire to kill that Moriarty character, so he could rid the wastes of Megaton's little "atomic problem." No matter now. My plans for Megaton have changed. I no longer need Andrew. He is expendable.

Yes, I think I know who I should've approached from the beginning----that elusive lass from Vault 101. Since emerging from that dark dwelling of hers, Gemma has made quite a name for herself. I swear, the people of the wastes are beginning to look at her with a combination of awe and fear.

This girl, or The Lone Wanderer as the radio keeps referring to her, is truly capable of anything. She's surpassed even my estimation of her; she is legendary to the struggling starving rabble of wasteland living. I must recruit her to my cause. Unlike Andy, I'll divulge my true reasons for wanting that bomb gone. Surely she'll agree with my absolute reasoning? She has to; indeed, my vision of a purged wasteland is the key to a salvageable future, and to new beginnings for our race.

Ah, Gemma. . .your destiny is here with me. Make your way back to Megaton, so we can strike up an "understanding" if you will. I can be very persuasive. I have to be. My charm has kept me above the suspicions of such idiots like Tenpenny himself. Ha. He thinks I am his kept man, oh no. . .he is mine; a puppet, and I, his puppeteer, forever pulling his strings.

Soon, your thinking will mirror mine Miss 101: that the world is a hell which must be cleansed of all demons, devils, and vile sinners. We shall begin anew Gemma. We shall. The future is for people like us, _not_ for the ordinary rabble of the wastes; the raiders, slavers, and junkies are undeserving of this ideal paradise of ours. Like the vermin they are they shall be exterminated, and we shall reap the rewards of our actions-----a lush paradise of beauty, hope, and peace. Yes, a world without swine. . . .A divine proposition don't you think?


	36. A Bleeding Heart Thing

I am so fucking tired. . . .Been all over the damn place since I found Three Dog. Been to downtown D.C., been to Underworld, been to The Museum of Technology, been accosted by super mutants, been threatened by raiders, and was seriously injured. Whoopie-fricken'-doo! Then (after all that fun) I went back to GNR, got the skinny on where my dad's run off to, and then stopped in a settlement known as Grayditch.

Yeah, I'm kinda wishing I hadn't of hunkered down in Grayditch, but, then again, I was too fucking tired to care about those giant ass ants lurking around. All I had wanted was to sleep, rest, scrounge for supplies, and clean my lovely flesh wound that Dr. Barrows had "advised" me to stay off of. God, it hurts like a bitch-kitty!

Fuck, the doctor in me _knew _I shouldn't of run amuck with that nasty injury of mine 'cause now it's super soar, and a tad infected. Total greatness, right? It's just. . .well. . .that "daughter" side of me wanted to find my dad; I had thought, "To hell with the pain! Grow the fuck up and deal with it," which is what I did. Thank all that is holy for Charon. He had the wherewithal to grab some extra stimpacks from GNR before we left. (At least one of us was using their noggin,' or what's left of their noggin' anyway.)

Shit! How was I supposed to know that those ants I spied were _also _fire breathing ant fucknuts?! Nope. I just _had _to assume that they were your run-of-the-mill "giant ant monsters" not your fucking "pyromaniac ant monsters." I mean, seriously? Really? Out of all the ants in the Capital Wasteland to run into, Charon and I had to come across fucktarded fire ants? Fuck me Freddy this sucks balls.

And you know what makes this situation all the more "awesome?" What _really _ices the cake on this nightmare? It's that I _have _to be a, "Fucking bleeding heart all of the goddamn time," as Charon so nicely put it. Yup, because of that ticker of mine I made us stay in the said shitty town of Grayditch. Why'd I do that, you ask? Well, because of the whole "bleeding heart" thing. There was this survivor-----a kid.

Just as Charon and I were about to haul ass outta there, we spot this kid running toward us, like God gave him wings or something. . . .This kid, Bryan was his name, lost his dad and didn't know what happened to him. He'd said something about this scientist moving into town, his dad working for him, and some non-sense about a paranoid neighbor etc. What I _managed _to learn from Bryan's rambling was that not long after this lone "egg head" waltzed into Grayditch then, suddenly, all these damn fire ants start appearing to incinerate all living things. Lovely. . . .

Jesus Christ! Damn my conscience. I. . .It. . .wouldn't let me leave this boy behind--especially when he and I are so much alike. Yes, like me, he's lost his dad and wants to find him; oh, and like me, we're also both orphans of the wastes. With this knowledge (and that fact that he's just a child) I had to help him, so now I'm off to find his dad for him. Hopefully, Bryan's father is still alive. . . .

Crazy bastard just_ had _to go after that scientist dickweed because (putting two and two together) he figured out that that nerdy asshole caused this whole "antsy" situation. Great. . . . What is it _with_ father's today? Is it like some sort of new trend to abandon their children so they can go out to play the hero, or some brahminshit like that? Fuck.

Okay, I know. I know. Getting all hot headed and "Grognak smash" angry isn't the answer to this seriously fucked up situation. I've just got to keep my cool, even if I am all sorts of seriously worn the fuck out. (I swear, I might be developing narcolepsy. I am _that_ tired. I mean, I could fall asleep where I'm standing, fire ants be damned.)

Tiredness aside, I guess I can sympathize with Mr. Wilks's need to pursue that scientist prick; furthermore, I understand why'd he'd want to massacre said idiot scientist's lab experiments gone _way_ wrong. I get it. He wanted to exterminate every last insect to ensure his son's safety, but (more than that) he wanted to knock some sense into "Mr. Scientist Guy." He wanted to end those ant's threat to the wastes for good. . .kind of like my old man. . . .

I suppose that Mr. Wilks wants what every parent wants: a better world for his child to live in. . . .But, did he _really_ have to leave me. . ._Bryan _alone? No matter how you spin it, abandonment will always remain a bitter reality for those of us left behind----It is a world without security and love. I pretty lonely fucking existence if you ask me.

God! Why can't anything be easy anymore? I've _finally_ got a lead on my dad but can't act on it, for now I've gotta find someone else's father. Shit. . .Charon's right. My bleeding heart_ does_ suck, but you know what else? I think having a hollow heart would suck even more. . . .

Still, at least this situation isn't without it's humor. It is fucking ironic, isn't it? Me helping a kid whose lost their dad while trying to find mine? Yeah. . .Oh well. . .I'll do it. That kid needs someone to protect him now that his daddy's gone, and nobody deserves to be abandoned twice. No. Once is _more_ than enough for a child to bear and, believe me, I would know. I've been there. . . .

************

***Thanks Riven for pointing out my "conscience" mistake. Also thank you and Shaykin for your reviews. I really do appreciate them. Now, to explain this drabble a little bit to my readers. . . . .**

**First off, I know Fred Wilks is dead in his home etc. However, at this point in the game, I didn't want Gemma to be aware of that. I always thought it stupid that Mr. Wilks ended up ant food inside his house, so I decided to embellish the story a little bit. Will Mr. Wilks end up dead in the house anyway? Yes. Then why all this "embellishment?" Well, I thought why not have Mr. Wilks go back to his house to get ammo to pursue Dr. Lesko, and then end up dead by a surprise fire ant attack? It just made more sense (to me) to write it like that.**

**Also, I thought The Lone Wanderer would have more of a connection with Bryan if he honestly did not know where his dad went etc. I thought by having such a connection, it would also make Gemma think about her own parentless situation; I guess, I wanted to depict Gemma's fragility, as well as anger toward abandonment itself etc. **

**You see, I never pictured our hero as someone who was totally good or totally evil; in fact, I pictured them as human. Is Gemma good? Yes, she is. Still, Gemma has her_ own_ issues, demons, and personal battles to work out. Plus, she's a scared nineteen year old out on her own for the first time in a dangerous environment. I figured, despite wanting to help people, she would feel compelled to stay alive long enough to do what she came to do: meet up with her dad and finish Project Purity. She isn't a super hero after all. She is what she is: Just a girl ( and that's exactly how I introduced her). **


	37. Girl's Got Needs

I wonder what Eulogy is doing? I'm bored. . .and I'd like to see some fucking action. When are Crimson, Eulogy, and me gonna go do something. . .ya know . . .interesting? We've been back in Paradise Falls now for over two weeks! It's a snore fest. Sure, I like bullshitting as much as the next girl (not to mention getting frisky with my boss man. . .and even Crimson) still I'm ready to go mesmerize some peeps. . . .

God, if I didn't have this damn collar on then I'd be doing just that. Sure, some might say it's pretty fucked up that I'd enslave people being "technically" a slave myself, but Eulogy said so himself, "That crazy ass girl's one tough ass bodyguard." See! I'm a bodyguard not some titty sucking stupid ass slave! There's a big difference. . . .

Yeah, and anyway, the only reason Eulogy slapped this collar on me in the first place was because I was trying to cut off his balls. . . .See, before my "bodyguard" existence, I was a happy go lucky raider. I did what any hot blooded American girl does: I stole, fought, fucked, and caused as much shit as I could----then I met Eulogy.

He is one smooth talking lover. . . .In less then five minutes we were fucking each other's brains out. It was "meant-to-be-love-at-first-sight" kinda shit. Plus, I'm really sort of a hard lay; in fact, ask anyone and it usually takes people a total of fifteen minutes to get into my panties.

Still, despite our stellar connection Eulogy (being the kind of guy that always has a hard-on) ended up screwing all the chicks I raided with. Big mistake. So, being a sensitive kinda girl, I came after him with a switch blade saying, "I'm gonna make you scream cocksucker!" Well, guess what my man did. . .yup, the bastard mesmerized me! I was so fucking pissed, but I'm glad he did it. I would've missed his balls. Yeah, and unlike those other whores, I got escorted back to Eulogy's love nest. I guess, he couldn't part with me. (That, and I think I kinda scared him).

Oh. . .I want him back _now,_ so I can have some fun with him! I want to _do _something for him. . ._or _to him. Fuck. . . .You know, I think he mentioned going to see Cutter. . .Hmmm. . .probably needs some jet or something. Shit! Knowing Eulogy he could be screwing her. Ass. I'll bite his cock next time we fuck if that's the case (and I'll bite it hard too.) He'll need to disinfect the shit outta it after I'm done with leaving my little mark! Yeah. . .but Cutter's pretty fugly (at least, I wouldn't do her). Now, if it was someone as hot as Crimson, well, then it'd be okay. I'd even ask him to let me in on the fun too. . . . I like having a good time with more than my baby. . .it spices things up. He-he-he.

Jesus, now I'm horny _and_ bored! Ugh. I wish I could go outside, but I can't. I had strict orders to stay inside, patrol the area, and wait for Eulogy's return. Damn these collars. Shit, he better be back soon because I am _so_ ready for some action.

Maybe I could "convince" him to take me somewhere? Yeah! Like, I could tempt him into taking me and Crimson to Evergreen Mills. It's been _forever _since I've been there! Oh, and it's so freaking fun there! Damn. Those guys sure as hell know how to throw a party down there. . . .Yeah, and this girl is ready to get her party on. Hell's yes!

I mean, I'm all dressed up with no where to go. Why can't _my_ Eulogy take me there? We could cause some serious damage at Evergreen Mills! Plus, I wanna go boozing, have me a few laughs, and try some of that new ultra jet I've heard so much about. . . .

Okay! That's it. We're going. Yeah. I'm gonna _make _him go. I deserve this. Fucker hasn't taken me out on a proper date in months! (Hey, just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I don't have needs too, okay?) I mean, shit, I like to be romanced from time to fucking time too, ya know?

Fuck! I should be fucking romanced anyway just for the way I look! Damn. I mean, I'm hot and hot people need presents from admirers to show that their "hotness" is appreciated. Yup. It's true. And I'm _itching_ to getting me some of that ultra jet as my gift; plus, I bet it'd be the _perfect _aphrodisiac for me. Oh, yeah, Eulogy would be one _lucky_ guy if he agrees to this "outting" of mine 'cause I can be _very _persuasive. . . . Yeah, and then maybe I won't bite down so fucking hard on his pecker, if he really_ is_ shacking up with that bitch Cutter.

See? I am such a goddamn lady! I'm all ready to forgive my Eulogy for his cheating ways (even if it's my damn Mesmetron telling me to do so). Still, it's the thought that counts right? Anyway, whatever, all I care about is convincing Eulogy to see things my way. But, I shouldn't really worry. I mean, the guy will do _anything_ I tell him to do after I've "had my way" with him. ( Yeah, I guess I'm just that good). I mean, I must be a goddess of love, fucking, and bodyguarding to get guys to fall puddy into my hands? Whatever, life is good, baby---and it'll get even better once Eulogy fulfills some of my needs like I always fulfill his.


	38. Past Transgressions

*** Thanks to Will Freedom, Umbra-Luna, and Kantata for their reviews. You guys are all awesome! **

*************

I'm not a perfect man, hell I'm not even close to it. . .and the odds of me getting into heaven (if there is such a place) is slim to nil. My past makes my future personified by suffering; the memories of yesteryear rape the chambers of my mind with their viciousness. I was one heartless fuck back in what was the "prime" of my life. Christ.

Nobody would guess it by looking at me, but my youth was driven by greed, excess, power, and crime. I was a bastard then. . . . The things I did. . .I. . .I wish I could erase them from my memory. . . .All those people I should have helped, shit, that I took an _oath_ to help, well, I just let them all wither away and die.

I can't sleep most nights. It doesn't matter what I take. . .I hear their voices. I can hear Rosa, a young Latina girl (only fourteen years old) enslaved by Ymir. That sick son of a bitch touched her. I know he did.

Yes, in another life I was a doctor for almost twenty-five years in Paradise Falls. I'd do the minimal physical exams for the "cattle" (as we called 'em). If the slaves were seriously injured, well, then that was their problem; you see, slaves were disposable, so they didn't receive the best care from me, only the slavers did. Sure, I didn't sell _or_ capture anybody, but I _never_ helped any of the slaves escape---I was a doctor with the worst bedside manner imaginable. Yeah. . .I'd patch the slaves up haphazardly then I'd leave them at the mercy of the merciless.

I ignored that pleading look in their eyes. It was as if they instantly trusted me because I was a doctor, a man sworn to assist the needy. Even when they talked of the cruelty that they were subjected to I'd say, "Now, don't tell me any of that shit. That isn't _why_ I'm here. I'm here to clean that cut up of yours and send you on your merry fucking way, so quiet while I do my damn job." Yeah, some nice guy I was. I real humanitarian. . . .

All I cared about were the caps, my spacious quarters, and all the security of the place. Being out in the wastes so long, having to scavenge for supplies, to plead for medicine from bull-headed merchants, it was goddamn _exhausting_. It frustrated me, the endless struggle; it made me ambivalent to the needs of others.

I don't really know why it is I left or what triggered my leaving, but I got up one day deciding enough was enough. I felt as if I didn't belong in my own skin anymore. . . . I needed out, so I abandoned my post under the dark of night.

Perhaps it was Rosa? Or maybe it was the guilt over every child I had ever ignored that pushed me to leave? Yup. Fucked if I know. Whatever the reason, I made my way to Megaton to start fresh. I wanted to really help people again and atone for my past transgressions. I swear, with each new day I wonder if any of them have figured out my dark secret, yet? _Especially_ Lucas Simms. He's a regulator after all. . .and I'm betting the fella wouldn't invite me to play poker with him on Friday nights anymore if he knew what my last "residency" was.

At least I _am_ managing to do some good here. Sure, Megaton doesn't have the resources of Paradise Falls or the luxuries, but it has something better----it has promise. This rickety settlement represents hope for a better world; in fact, it _even_ has a sheriff in the lawless Capital Wasteland! Color me surprised.

Jesus. . .what I wouldn't give to fix the pain that I had caused. Dammit! Damn it all! Damn those dreams of wide-eyed hope. Damn, my naievity for believing that I could make such a big difference out in the wastes. Shit. If _I_ hadn't been so certain that I could turn radioactive water into wine then maybe I wouldn't have become so disaffected? Maybe, if _I _had been more of a _realist _then I'd never have run to the slavers, seeking refuge from a world I couldn't save?

Fuck it. I'm a realist now. . .and I know that despite all the good I've done in Megaton, or will do, nothing can wipe the slate clean for me. Yes sir, my past sins, well, they've gotten me a one-way ticket to an afterlife reminiscent of The Pitt. . .and I wouldn't have it any other way. I deserve damnation. Before I go though, I'll keep being Doc Church of that scrap heap of a town Megaton because it is the most honest thing that I have ever done in my existence. (That, and it makes this old dog feel useful again; in fact, it makes me feel heroic, a word I'd never thought I'd use to describe myself.) Yup. It makes me feel alive, and eager to spark the breath of life in others as well.


	39. Soon Isn't Soon Enough

My pa ran off an' left me. I don't know where he's at. . .He said somethin' about going back home. . .but he also said he was gonna talk to "that Scientist Fuck." (I guess he meant Dr. Lesko.)

Man! I shoulda followed him, but I didn't. Instead, I watched as he turned his back and walked away from me. . .soon he was nothin' more than a speck. I did ask him if I could go though. . .but he just got all mad, an' said no.

Pa looked at me all stern like, sayin' to stay behind; said that if he didn't come back in two days' time that I should leave Grayditch. I remember every word he spoke. Pa said, "Bryan, now, don't go hangin' round these parts. Not safe. If I'm not back when I told ya I'd be then join up with a merchant an' head off towards Megaton. Remember Megaton? That's where I bought our purdy rifle 'Virginia.'" I nodded at him. He just smiled, whispering, "Good. Hunker down, I'll be back tiger." He tousled my hair an' headed out on his way.

It'd been over five days (almost a week) since I'd seen him when that stranger an' her friend walked into town. I heard 'em from a mile away; those two said some interestin' stuff while they was fightin'. I think that ghoul man yelled somethin' like, "It's gonna blow!" Then he said, "Fucking fire ants explode like fucking fireworks," but I didn't really understand that too much.

Yeah, Pa would be cross with me if he knew I'd stayed longer than I was supposed to. I. . .I couldn't leave him though. He's my pa. . .an' I already lost ma. Raiders took her an' pa went after her an' said that he didn't get to her in time. . .said she'd been hurt too bad or somethin' like that. So, ma was killed then it was pa and me. We moved to Grayditch thinkin' it was safer than where we was before, but then all these aunts came round. "Nasty butt-fucks" Will called him. He was funny an' we'd run around tryin' to find out where the best places to hide were an' stuff. I liked him. . . .

He's gone though like my pa. . . .Nah, _not _like my pa. My pa's alive. That lady an' her friend said they was gonna find him for me. She was nice. Tough. Seemed like she knew what was what (at least, I think she did 'cause she used a lotta big words).

Gemma told me to go to Megaton like pa, but I ignored her. I'm not gonna go! I'm stayin' until they find pa. I'm doin' all right anyways. . .the "butt-fucks" don't bother me while I hide out in this metal thingy. (I think it's for people 'cause I found a skeleton in here with some supplies). The only thing is I really gotta pee somethin' awful. Shit. That's what Will would've said if he was here. He woulda said, "Shit this blows chunks." He's right, it does blow some serious chunks. . .an' I'm gettin' too tired to keep doin' the pee-pee dance.

Oh, man. . .I hope Gemma finds my pa. I want him and me to leave an' go to Rivet City maybe. Pa said I had an aunt there. . .at least, I think I do. . . .It's sounds like a cool place to live 'cause it's all on this big battle ship! I've never seen a battleship before an' I think livin' on one would be kinda boss. Badass, ya know?

Huh. . .it's been forever since I talked to that Gemma. . . .I hope she found him. Hey? Maybe they're all on their way back now from wherever it is pa was? Yeah! They have to be! Yeah. Soon pa an' me will be headed to Rivet City, away from fire ants, raiders, an' other crap. Soon I'll be makin' new friends; soon pa and me will be happy again. I wish soon was now. . .I dunno how much longer I can wait. . . . .


	40. A Fighting Man Gives Thanks

**This one shot was inspired by Thanksgiving. It isn't what you'd expect though. ;) It's more of paying homage to what a person is thankful for etc. I hope you all like it. Oh, (and before I forget) Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers! Hope you all have a great Turkey day! **

***********

Been living in this town ever since I took my first breath. Was born here. Will die here. It is my home, and forever shall be my home----no low life outlaw's gonna change that. (And believe me, a few of 'em have tried).

Take that idiot raider Boppo. With a name like that, you think he wouldn't of been anybody's leader, but he was. I smoked him when his gang of dirt bags settled down at Springvale School then tried to intimidate my town. _My _town. Can you believe that shit? Yeah, neither could I.

Those fools thought they could just move into the neighborhood and start taking over. Big fucking mistake. Boppo, he was one cocky fuck. Ugly bastard too. He kept saying how I wasn't, "seeing that none of this is personal, just survival of the fittest," and all that crap. Brahminshit. Survival of the fittest my ass! Now, maybe I'd of listened to that crap a little while longer _if _Boppo hadn't of been one overweight fucktard. (How he managed to stay alive with so many fat rolls hanging off his body, I don't know). What _does _matter is I got him clean square in the chest; yes sir, out of the two of us, I was the man with the faster gun and the quicker draw.

You know what else? I don't even _think _any of that raider scum. . .what was their gang again? Oh, yeah, "The Tricky Dicks," _knew _I was a Regulator either. Damn they were stupid.Heh. . .I'm not complaining though. Thanks to those fools, I got a mighty fine reward for Boppo's fat ass. I would've done it for free though. The guy was scum! Kin comes first for me, however; yeah, I have a little boy, and monitoring a small town doesn't always pay well.

Man, _my_ boy. A chip right off the old block! I tell ya, he is one mean gunslinger in the making. Kid can shoot a rapid dog fifty feet away blindfolded! A father couldn't be more proud. I call him Harden.

My Lil' Regulator in the making is christened after John Wesley Harden whom some would say was an "outlaw," but I always considered him an example of justice. I mean, the man _knew_ what it meant to walk tall in the face of adversity. (Hell, he probably was the inspiration for the phrase "walking tall").

Did you know that John Harden never instigated any of the gunfights he was in? In fact, it was always somebody who had felt cheated at a card game (or some other stupid shit like that) who'd try to kill Harden! Amazing but true. Yup. Harden did what any smart gunslinger would do: He defended himself, as well as his honor. The way I see it, honor is a trait all men should have----a trait I wanted my son to have.

Sometimes I sit and wonder what his little brother would've been like. His name was supposed to be Wyatt. . .but he died with my wife. Loretta had gone out to do some trading with Crazy Wolfgang when some asshole tried to rob Wolfgang's caravan, and ended up shooting my pregnant wife. I tracked that motherfucker down for what he'd done. I asked him why, but all he said was, "She. . .she just wouldn't stop crying man. I dunno. . . .I can't stand pregnant ladies. They. . .they make me think of my mom. . .and I hated my mom, ya know?" Shot that fucker's pecker clean off, cut his finger away from his bone, and left him to be picked at by the wasteland's wildlife. . . .Fucking low life asshole.

Ah, Loretta. One day, we'll meet again. She often said that Wyatt Earp was the ultimate Regulator; she was so sure our second son would be just like him too. Loretta even said, if it was twins, she'd name the second one Doc for Doc Holliday (Wyatt Earp's best friend). I didn't like that idea so much though. . .I mean, I respect Doc, but the man had bad health, a love for gambling, and a thirst for booze. Although, he was one cool cat too, I must give the man that.

It's a shame Harden doesn't have his mom anymore. Loretta. . .she had this light around her; it was as if her soul was so bright she glowed from the inside out. And I know Harden misses her something awful, even if he'll never admit to it. . .but I know he does. At night, sometimes, I hear him sing "Lullaby" by Billy Joel---the song _she_ used to croon to him each evening. I can also hear crying. . . .It breaks my heart. . . .

I suppose some people might wonder _why_ it is I do what I do. The answer is simple: Because I have already lost too much _not _to continue regulating Megaton. My son and that town are all I have left. The minute I put down my guns, well, that's the minute Moriarty (the town's resident limp dick) will do something to get us all into trouble. That fella is bad fucking news; not to mention, his establishment is a goddamn eyesore. I never drink there. . .every time I see someone that does, they're always puking (or shitting) their guts out. No thank you.

Yup. I'll keep on doing what I do best: I'll serve and protect. You see, it is _because _I am thankful for all that remains that I fight on. . . .Nothing else deserves to be lost on account of my pain. No sir. I have lost too much already. . .I'm just trying to hold on and be thankful for what it is I got---a home and a son that loves me.


	41. King Me!

*** Thanks to Riven Cole, dahoughtonuk, and Kantata for their reviews! I value your feedback (it makes my day). **

I am so close to a breakthrough! I can feel it! I will be a scientific hero for what I am accomplishing here. Yes, indeed, those fools back in the Rivet City science lab will be fawning all over me. Ha! I won't let them lick my boots,_ not_ after how Dr. Li responded to my research.

Oh, what was it she said? Yes, I believe it was, "What you are suggesting Dr. Lesko is dangerous, as well as highly improbable to achieve with our resources. I am _not_ willing to put any lives in jeopardy just to suit your scientific whims." Scientific whims! Philistine. What I proposed to do was _highly_ logical _and _possible. I cannot _wait _until the news of my discovery has reached Li and her lackeys. It is a shame I will not be able to see their envious faces. . . .

Oh, the fools! How they will drool. Sure, they might have some harsh words once they learn of the causalities, but lives lost to science is a triviality. Really, it is a necessary risk; for instance, it is our mistakes that helps us learn.

Furthermore, it wasn't as _if _these wastelanders died in vain. No. They died for science! In my opinion, there is no higher privilege than to perish for the betterment of humanity. . . . So, my ants weren't "supposed" to breathe fire, but at least some sort of progress was made, right? Because of my "mishap" I have learned what was lacking in my formula, and have made the necessary adjustments to it. Indeed, it'll soon be ready to be administered to my precious ant queen. However, getting down to her nest might be a bit of a problem for me. . . .

For instance, ants are extremely protective of their queen and will feel threatened by my presence; also, the insects would certainly attack me if I approached her. Huh. I wonder if they were frenzied, would that work? Hmmm. . . .I suppose I'll just have to hire some muscle to finish this task for me. I wonder how much _that_ will set me back?

Well, I _could _always barter with a genetic enhancement of some kind? Yes, I could do that. . .I mean, the FEV experiments _have_ proved pretty successful. . .and if works on ants, well, why not on humans?

Yes, that'll do. I shall pay them with genetic enhancements! Oh, I surprise even _myself_ at times, I am _that_ brilliant!

Hmmm. . . . Now, what _did _I do with that syringe? Hmmm. . . .Yes, there it is. . .next to my spare lab coat. Odd place to have left it. . .well, the pursuit of knowledge _can _take quite a bit out of a man. By golly it can. . .I am so weary. . . .Still, rest will come soon enough. Once I have the ants returned to their proper pre-war size then all shall be well. Ah, I am so close that it won't take very long now!

Yes, soon I will have solved one of life's most perplexing mysteries, and men (like Tenpenny), will be _begging_ me for my patronage. (In fact, I'd wager that my good deed is going to _ensure _me a slot in Tenpenny Tower!) Yes, yes, rest will come to one so deserving as I before I know it. . . . Yet, before I can bask in the glow of my scientific achievement, I must first finish it.

Indubitably, one cannot get too ahead of oneself can one? Oh, how I'd _hate _to have seen what my ants would've morphed into if I _hadn't_ of been as cautious as I was! No, it is certainly best not to dwell on such matters. My problem is (happily) only a minor one.

Thankfully my ants can _only _breathe fire, which (in the scheme of things) is _hardly _anything to get upset about. Oh my! I don't want to think of what would've happened if I hadn't of chosen my second formula over my first. . . .Yes, well, then I would have had a problem. Yes, instead of fire the ants would have been capable of using sonar to disrupt an individual's genetic code, thusly turning said individual into goo. How unfortunate that would've been!

This instance is but a speed bump upon the road to success; it is but a necessary glitch during one scientist's "eureka" moment. It happens. A mere insignificant set back for me, nothing more. At least I managed to discover the solution, thanks to my little "set back," as well as to my genius. (And thanks to said genius, the world's ants shall be as nature had intended them to be-small).

Oh, how I wish I could see her face? Dr. Li thinks she knows everything. Ha! She _obliviously _does not, for I have triumphed where she assumed I would fail! Yes, Li I am the superior one out of the two of us, for _I _have accomplished the unthinkable-I have saved lives with my discovery, while you have only _maintained _the support of life with yours.

By gingo, I am the "King of the Lab" Li. Me! Not you; in fact, you will have to renounce your queenly crown to make way for me, your stately king. Yes, I am, (what some may call) a "savior" of the wastes? And, Dr. Li, excuse me if I'm wrong, but _who _else can say that about themselves? Definately not you nor many others. . .only I, Dr. Weston Lesko can, for I am the reigning king of science and discovery (apparently).

*** Just thought I should give kudos to the tv show Bones. It came up with the "King of the Lab" concept/ phrase, not me. Thanks to Fiction Twins for pointing out my blunder on Lesko's first name. I've been on Fallout wiki and didn't see what was right in front of me. . .Yeah, I'm *awesome* like that. Anywho, Eugene has been changed to Weston. =) **


	42. Progress Be Damned

Those damn ants! When I get my hands on Dr. Lesko, I am going to ring him a new asshole! Heartless bastard. All those people dead. . .including Bryan's dad. Poor man never left his house; he got all barbequed thanks to those fucking fire ants. Gutless wonder didn't even try to stay to _help _Grayditch's residents. Nope. He ran off to the depths of Marigold Metro Station to "save" his ants. At this point, I'd terminate every last one of those motherfuckers if I were in his shoes, but since Lesko can't nut up then I'll just have to do it myself.

Christ, the smoke almost looks like fog it's so damn thick. I swear, everything is on fire here. . .it's as if I've entered the gates of Hell or something. (I wouldn't be surprised if Satan himself were to pop up somewhere.) God, but what am I saying? That dark angel's definately here. If faith has taught me anything, it's that Satan relishes man's inhumanity to man; apparently, suffering gives Hades himself a major boner. Creep.

Oh, and the _smell. _It's unlike anything I've ever had the misfortune to inhale; it's as if the fragrance of death lingers around Charon and I. Rotted, burning flesh constantly assaults our nostrils. . .and I'm chocking on it's fumes. It doesn't seem to bother "Mr. Tough Guy" though. Charon seems to be okay with the stench of crispy critter corpses. I guess Charon's smelled worse? Well, bully for him. As for me, I hope never to get used to such things. . . .

Ah, shit! I just realized something! Fuck. What _if _this ghastly "aroma" smells like ambrosia to a _certain _band of green brutes? Fuck-monkeys, Charon and I need to hall ass. Now!

God, if we don't hustle our bustles soon I bet we'll_ not_ only be dealing with fire ants, _but_ with super mutant fucktards as well. Dammit! Once those brutes catch a whiff of this place, they'll be _unable_ to stay away. (Yup. The stink of burnt people equates to the mouth-watering inducing smell of a brahmin steak for them). Christ! I can't let that happen. I mean, what if Bryan _didn't_ leave? My guts telling me he didn't. . .he's too stubborn. Plus, I know if _I _were Bryan _I_ wouldn't have left either. Shit. . . .

Damn you Lesko! Tell me, was your experiment really worth this mess? Fucktarded asshole. _You_ wiped out an _entire_ settlement without any provocation and for what reason? So you could make ants smaller? Well, that would've been all "fine and dandy," if (and only if) you hadn't of made them _**breath fan-fucking-tastic fire**_ _**instead!**_ Way to be Lesko! Way to **fucking** be!

Jesus, what _is_ wrong with you anyway? I mean, one of your screws_ must_ be loose for you to think that progress overrides the lives of others; in fact, I've decided that you're of the "evil" genius variety because _real scientists_ know **not **to risk people's lives just so they can test out a fucking theory! For God's sake, Moira has more sense than you have, and Moira's nuttier than a fruitcake, alright?! Shit. But, you know what else Lesko? Moira has something you don't: a heart.

Doc, I'm going to make you pay for this bullshit. Oh, and expect a slap across the face as my way of saying "thank you," for all the bug bites/burns your ants have given me. They itch like a mother! Bastard.

I'm coming for you and your "precious" ants; it's times someone exterminated those insects, and that person is going to be me. (Thank God for big boots in which to kick men in the balls with, well, that is if Lesko has balls. . . .) Okay, here I come! Oh yes, I'm here to kick ass, crush ants, and to stop scientific boobs like Dr. Lesko. My name is Gemma by the way and I'm more than one man can handle. (Especially Lesko. The prick).


	43. A Road Less Traveled

*** Firpi, thanks for the review! It's refreshing to see different readers leave reviews. I hope you leave more. I enjoy them. ;)**

***********

Man, if there's one thing I've learned it's that my new "boss lady" has one hell of a temper. Fuck! I'm beginning to think she knows more swear words than I do. . .and I've been around the block a couple of times. Christ, she said some pretty colorful things. Some pretty _damn _colorful things--more colorful than a friggin' rainbow.

Huh? What was one of her curses? Oh, yeah, she screamed "chum sucking motherfuckin' pussy swatters" in one breath, after we were flanked by fire ants upon entering the Metro Station. I must admit, it was kinda impressive how fast she spit that one out too. I _almost_ laughed, but then I saw her eyes. . .all aglow with rage. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to remain silent and let her do all the talking at that point. . . .

But, despite her potty mouth, endless rambling, and death glares, she ain't that bad. This chick's got morals. . .unlike some of my other employers. I gotta say, I admire her for stopping for that kid. Sure, it's been a pain in the ass to deal with (literally, since I got one big burn on my left butt cheek thanks to this errand) still, I'm glad we're doing this. That kid. . .he'll live now. . .maybe. I don't know. I just know it feels right helping him; it also feels right seeing some proper action and shit. Bodyguard duty was boring as hell! (Of course, I'll _never_let Gemma know. She'd probably never let it go, considering how I didn't want to help the kid when he first approached us in the first place. Yeah, she'd harp on it for fucking ever.)

Looking at her now, she seems calmer. Yet, I can sense her tension; usually, her body language is more relaxed, less rigid. Yup. Gemma's still pissed off. Hmmmm. . .I wonder what she's gonna do to that scientist guy? It doesn't take a genius to guess that all of that rage of her's is directed towards that prick and his thoughtlessness. Even _if_ I can't stand the guy either, I hope she doesn't kill the jerk. Yeah, he _probably_ deserves to die, but if she does that then she might be capable of anything. . . .

I don't want to think about that right now, though. I just. . .I've seen men fall for lesser things ya know? Anyway, despite not knowing her so well, I do know one thing about her---she's soft. Taking a life willingly would probably break Miss Gemma. (Which is why I think I'm warming up to her. She cares more about others than herself). Fuck it! I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, for now I'll just keep my eyes pealed for enemy ants. Those fucking ants. . .I fucking** hate** ants. But I _really_ hate ants that can burn a hole **through** my pants! Fuckers.

Whatever happens, I know one thing: I'll follow. Girl's got my contract so she's got me. Wherever she goes, at least I know it won't be dull. I've seen more action with her than I have with some bounty hunters I'd had to tag along with. Ah, there's nothing like the sound of a gunblast to put a guy in a giddy mood. Oh, yeah! This is what I was _born_ for: maiming enemies and letting Sally do her thing, that's aces in my book. Fucking aces.

Look! More ants! I'm ready, and so is Sal. Ha! That's it! Come to daddy! Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah, this is the life. . .let's hope Gemma doesn't go changing things. I like a good honorable brawl, one without, say, slaughtering ordinary people? That. . .that's never been anything I've enjoyed. . .and here's hoping the wastes won't break this girl, and make her start shooting first and asking questions later. (Because that could happen. It has happened to others I've walked with).

Yet, maybe I shouldn't be so pessimistic about my new situation? Yeah. Plus, there's just something special about my new "boss lady." I can't put my finger on it, but my gut's telling me so; in fact, I'd wager my Sally on it _that's_how sure I am. Hmmm. . .that Gemma, sure, she's got one dirty mouth, but she's got "it" too----it's that "it" that makes her a force to be reckoned with. I just hope to whatever deity's out there that Gemma doesn't go down the wrong path. . . .

Fact is: I'm _tired _of walking the low road. Been down that path one too many times with previous masters, and it makes for one long_ dark _journey. Now, the highroad, that's a road I could get used to. I'm finding that I like the way this road bends. Heh. Its certainly got a prettier view than the low road. Also it seems its got more combat, and cracking the skulls of a couple derserving fucks always puts a smile on my face. . . .Yeah, I'm for this road, the one less traveled, the one more people should explore. . .but, for some reason, don't. I wonder why?


	44. MEAT

*** Okay this drabble isn't a typical drabble. Once you start reading it, you'll see why. It's kinda like my Jane Doe drabble, but not. (I know, way to be vague. LOL). Any-who, I hope you like it! ;) Enjoy! =)**

************

Hungry! SO HUNGRY! Me want food now! Food. . . . Me no know last time me ate. Only know me HUNGRY! HUNGRY FOR MEAT! ME WANT MEAT NOW!

Me tired. Tired of walking. . .want to kill for MEAT. Small runts taste good; red juices like wine to me. . .don't know what is though, just know it good too. Me like good things. Me like chasing runts down with friends. Screams make me laugh! HA HA HA HA. Funny to see meat run. Meat do not run as I do. I fast. Clan fast. We got big guns too. GUNS GO BOOM! BOOM GOOD!

Me want to shoot runt in head, see it go BOOM. Runt's head juicy. Me lick juicy stuff off dirt. We all slurp it up. We all like meat. Meat best fresh. Good cooked too. Best bloody mess.

Want to stop now. Clan walk long. Walk for days think me. No sleep. No drink. No food. We all angry! We all HUNGRY! WE READY TO HUNT MEAT! Where meat at? MEAT? COME OUT MEAT! Meat no scream. . .meat no here. . . .

Gonna sleep. . . .No. Me no want to. When sleep dream. Dreams bad. Dreams of me as meat. Running. . . .Have smaller me with me. . . .she not as fast. Why upset? She meat. Meat GOOD. . . .Just not in dream. . . .When she-runt die I get sad. . . .Me cry and scream. . . .Name Rosie. . . .ME NO THINK OF ROSIE! SHE NOTHING! SHE MEAT!

I EAT MEAT AND THAT ALL!

AHHHHHHH!!!!! WHERE FOOD? WHERE? WE WANTS FOOD!

Me know we do. When dark, Narp killed Blart 'cause he angry with no food. Narp hit Blart over head with club, Blart die and Narp took Blart somewhere. . . Me no know where. . . .Narp gone from rest of us. . .came back when light, looked happy. Not hungry no more. . . .Huh. Me no know why kill Blart? Maybe Blart had meat? Glad Blart dead if hiding meat. Bad Blart. Bad! Still. . .me miss Blart. Blart tell jokes. Blart funny. . . .

HEY! ME SMELL SOMETHING! SMELL LIKE MEAT! US ALL SMELLS MEAT! WHERE FROM? MUST FOLLOW! FOLLOW NOW!

Sock in lead. Sock smell best. He say coming from town front of us. Me see sign and it say, "Grayditch." That town me say to Clan. ME SPECIALIER! OTHERS THEY NO KNOW HOW READ THINGIES! ME DO! HA!

Clan happy with me. Happy that town has meat. Happy it day away and it smell GOOD. LIKE MEAT ON FIRE. FIRE GOOD. MEAT! ME HAPPY FOR MEAT. ME READY FOR MEAT!

We reach meat when light. Me can't wait! And LOOK! Me see ants! Not runt meat but still meat! COMING ANTS COMING! MAWHAHAHAHAHA! ME GONNA GET YOU ANTS! ME GONNA EAT MEAT! ME GONNA EAT ANT MEAT AND PEOPLE MEAT! ME GONNA SHOOT NOW! ME COMING FOR YOU MEAT! ME HUNGRY! ME WANT FOOD! ME EAT FOOD NOW! HA HA HA HA!

ROSIE WANT MEAT? ROSIE? ROSIE?! WHERE ROSIE?

Oh. . . she no real. . . . Me stupid! Me angry! Angry 'cause she no real! Angry 'cause she runt! Why care for runt? RUNT ARE MEAT! ME FORGET SHE-RUNT! ME GO KILL ANTS NOW! ME FORGET HER! IF ME SEE SHE-RUNT ME KILL HER TOO! ME HATE ROSIE! SHE NO REAL! NO REAL! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

ME KNOW SHE NO REAL. . .ME KNOW! ME. . . .Me want Rosie real. Me no know why? Me sad. . . .ME BLAME HUNGRY BELLY! ME TIRED! ME EAT ROSIES! THAT'S WHAT ME DO! ME EAT MEAT LIKE HER! SHE NO MATTER! ANTS NO MATTER! MEAT MATTER! MEAT ALL LEFT NOW!

MEAT! ME COMING MEAT! ME COMING FOR YOU! ME COMING! ME COMING AND ME BRING BOOM! ME COMING AND ME KILL ROSIES! THAT'S WHAT US DO MEAT! THAT'S WHAT US DO! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! ME COMING ROSIE! ME COMING FOR YOU!


	45. Yeller

*** Sanima and AlphaOmega92, you're reviews were so kind! Thank you both for your support. Also, I hope to read your story soon AlphaOmega92! I'm happy to have inspired such an intersting idea. =) Now, back to business! Here's yet another drabble. I hope it doesn't disappoint. Enjoy! ;)**

************

That Gemma lady an' her friend sure have been gone a long time. . . .I thought they'd have found pa by now. . . . Those ants didn't get 'em, did they? Stupid ants! I hate 'em! 'Cause of them my pa's run off an' left me. . .plus, I'm stuck in this dang box thingy.

Why'd pa leave without me anyway? It's just like with ma! Wouldn't let me go with him then too. Sometimes. . .sometimes I think that, ya know, maybe if I'd a been there to help him then he coulda saved her. . . .I miss ma. She smelt of daisies an' she knew how to make me feel better when I was scared an' she always made pa smile. He don't smile much anymore. . . .

Dumb ants! Why couldn't I be older? Will gotta go with his pa everywhere! He even had a gun of his own! Pa wouldn't let me have my own. . .but he did teach me how to shoot though. . . .Still, I'm big for my age! Why'd ya have to go alone pa? I coulda helped ya! I coulda!

Ah, Jeeze-O! My belly fills like it's gotta burst! Dang! As Will used to say, "Fuck nuts!" I can't hold my pee no longer. . .Okay, well, I didn't hear no ants, so I'm gonna run outside to do my business an' stuff. Here goes! Ha! No ants in sight! Now. . .where should I "go?" Hmmm. . . .That diner looks okay. Yeah, might have food. I'm headin' there! I ate most of the good supplies in that box. . .I don't wanna touch the liverwurst what's-it meal. It looked icky. . .all brown an' stuff. The package said, "Just add water," but the picture isn't makin' my mouth water; plus, it looks it'd be a casserole an' I hate casseroles! Yuck!

Huh. . .smells nice out here. Been in that there box too long! I wonder how long I'd been in there? More than I day I reckon. . .but then again I dunno. Pa never was good at teachin' me to tell the time. . .Ma was doin' that before she. . .Well, pa didn't pick up ma's lessons with me after she died. . . .

Dang! Gotta pee! Gotta pee! Gotta let my people go! Um. . ..There! I'll go behind the diner. Here seems like a good spot (an' I don't think nobody's gonna care anyways). Ah. . .That's better! Now to get me some good eats. . . .

Yes! That diner had Nuka-Cola and some Sugarbombs! I love Sugarbombs! When ya eat 'em with cola they start to pop inside ya going down your throat. It's great! Yeah, if pa was here he'd told me to eat 'em in a bowl with some milk. . .yeah . . . . But, pa isn't here right now. . .so I can eat 'em anyway I like! Still. . .the bombs are good with milk too. Pa. . .he liked 'em best with milk, but it had to be warm milk. He was always sayin' how cereal wasn't cereal unless it was warm 'cause it filled a man good 'an proper then. . . .

Huh. . .I wonder if I'd a followed that Gemma, would she have let me tag along? But. . .but. . .the ants. . .

Nah! She wouldn't of anyways! An' it's not like those ants scare me or nothin' 'cause . . .'cause I'm not yeller! I'd sooner die than be yeller! I. . .SHIT BRICKS! There's some more fire ants over yonder, an' I think they've seen me! But. . .but it's only one. I could take one, right? Yeah. I've got my sling shot! I bet I could take that sucker out once I get me some rocks then I'll. . .OUCH! Where'd that ant come from?! Was it waitin' for me or somethin'? It came outta nowhere. . .an' where's the other one! Oh, I gotta get back to my hideout. Just gotta run for it! RUN!

Feet move! Come on! I can do this! Just. . .just gotta think of this like a race. Yeah. . .a race! I'm. . .I'm a racin' Will an' I can't let Will win 'cause he'll just call me a "tit lickin' priss" again! Yeah, this is just a race! I. . .I can almost touch the door of that thingy. . .almost. . .HA! BEAT YA! BEAT YA DUMB ANTS! BEAT YA! Phew. . .that coulda been bad. I think. . .I think I won't drink Nuka-Cola until I'm outta here. . .peeing is kinda dangerous an' stuff. . . .

Darn ants! Ah, well, at least I've got my Sugarbombs. . . .Mmmm. . .crunchy goodness! I loves my Sugarbombs! Yum. . .Huh. . .What's that noise? It. . .it was too loud to be one of the ants. . . .Um. . .maybe Gemma's back with my pa? Yeah! I'll just. . .wait. . .what if it isn't pa, Gemma, or her ghoul pal? What if. . .what if it's raiders or. . .no. . .not them! Please, not those guys! Not the green boogiemen! Please, oh please no green boogiemen! They. . .they take people off to somewhere an' they don't come back. . . .I. . .I'll just stay in here for a minute. . .just in case it isn't my pa. . .yeah. . . .

Okay. . .gotta keep my cool. Wouldn't want to prove Will right. Yeah, 'cause I'm no sissy! I'm. . .I'm a Wilks. . .an' Wilks' are brave men! Yeah! Uh. . .what was that? I heard. . .the ants. . .they're fightin' somethin' an' it's big. . . .It is them. . . .

I can hear 'em now. . .The boogiemen are all yellin' at each other. Mostly, they're sayin' stuff like, "I kill you," an' "Meat! Where meat!" I. . .Please don't mean me! They can't. . .they don't know I'm in here. . .or do they?! No. . .they don't. They're. . .talkin' about the burnin' bodies. . .Ah, Jesus! I. . .I was hopin' they was talkin' about the ants. . .but it's not me. . .Dang. . .Will. . . .I never buried his body. . . .

Pa! Come back pa! I. . .I'm scared! I'm. . .I'm no better than anybody else. . .Will was right: I am a sissy boy. A failure. . .to pa, ma, an' to Will. I. . .I've gotta keep my cool. . .can't cry. . .pa. . .I'm. . .sorry. . .I shoulda followed ya! I. . .I hope Gemma's gonna be alright. . .I. . .I know she ain't no sissy, not like me. . . .Please, don't let her be like me---a yeller bellied loser. Please. . .please God, please.


	46. Some Rules Aren't Meant to Be Broken

God, I am _over _fighting these fucking ants! It's bad enough that they're enormous motherfuckers, but they're also enormous motherfuckers that can spew fire. I'm beginning to think someone up there hates me. . .a lot. (That or I'm just cursed).

Fuck! I hope that kid Bryan's okay. . . .I. . .I don't want to think about anything bad happening to him. I can't. . .not right now.

Damn Lesko and his little "ant infestation!" Bastard. Thanks to him, Charon and I are frantically trying to avoid getting our gooses cooked (and not that successfully either). So far, the both of us have suffered several burns, bites, and gashes; furthermore, I'm sporting some singed eyebrows, while Charon's missing some of his uni-brow. Yup, we've both seen better days.

Charon's signaling to me. . . .I think he's found something. Oh great. . .it's another dead body. Huh. This guy's got an Enclave issued sidearm? What the. . .wait. So, the Enclave exists? Okay, who _was_ this guy? Hmmm. . ..body's got a key. I'll hold onto this I think. . . .AHHHH! OUCH! GODDAMMIT!

Fucking ANTS! Shit! My arm. My whole right arm is burnt to hell! Fuckity-Fuck! God. . .need a stimpack. . . .need one NOW.

Where? Where is it!? I've got too much shit in this damn satchel of mine! Fuck. . .typical girl's got too much shit in her purse to find the one item she needs! SON-OF-A-BITCH my arm hurts!

Wait. . .THERE IT IS! Yes, sweet release. Now to help Charon kick some more ant ass! Hmmm. . .I think I'll shoot this ugly fucker right between the eyes. . . .Ready. Set. SHOOT! Ha! Bye-bye buddy! Sorry about your head exploding. . .NOT.

Glad that's over. Now to locate Dr. Shithead with a PhD in Dickheadedness. Jesus, we _better _be getting close to Lesko's "evil lair." I can't take much more of this.

Honest to God, if Charon and I spend anymore time down here I'm liable to loose my fucking mind! That and I want to get back to Bryan as fast as possible. Time is of the essence.

Yeah, if we all don't skedaddle soon (especially before those corpses start to stink up to high heaven) then we'll all be in for some _serious _trouble. I mean, it's not gonna be long before the super mutants catch a whiff of Grayditch and figure, "It's time to get us some meat boys and girls!" Yeah. . . .I really don't want to be around for that. In fact, I'd_ rather _go all the way with Butch Deloria than face that possible shit storm----and that's saying something isn't it?

Alright. By the look of my Pip-boy it's saying we should go north. So, north it is. . .and what do you know? Charon spots a light up ahead! Could it be Lesko's makeshift lab? It better be. He and I have got some business to settle. . . .

I do know one thing: Whatever this d-bag proposes, I'm destroying the source of this problem. He'll get to keep his research; once I squelch this _ant_agonistic situation, he can begin again (and do it right) the next time. I'm not stupid. Smaller ants would make life easier for everyone, so I'm not going to destroy his findings. Plus, if I destroyed said findings then that would mean he'd have to start all over again, and that is way too risky. I mean, he's decimated a whole town on his first go-around! There's no need to let his scientific research loose on another settlement . (That and I really don't want to clean up another one of Lesko's messes).

Also, I'm gonna school this prick in the art of humanitarianism. Yeah, Lesko needs a serious reality check. To think that it was ever acceptable to do his experiments in a settlement full residents was unacceptable! He broke the cardinal rule of science (the one that Jonas taught me) which was, "Never endanger those that we are striving to lift up with our creations. For, what is the point of bettering mankind with advancements in science and medicine, if these very advancements end up causing more harm than good?" The answer I always gave: Once harm has been done to the general populace then we have failed as doctors, as scientists, and as human beings.

Oh, I miss you Jonas. . . .If you were here with me, I'd know what you'd do. You'd probably introduce yourself to Lesko by punching him in the face! Yeah. . .you. . .you were like an uncle to me. . . .You shouldn't be gone. . . .

No, I can't get all emotional right now. I can't. I need to focus on the task at hand for Bryan, Charon, and the people of Grayditch; I need to destroy Lesko's ant queen. Fucking Lesko. . .F.Y.I. Doc: you don't save lives by sacrificing life, okay? It's not how people like us are supposed to play the game because once we do we only end up causing more pain----we hurt the innocent. Case in point: You hurt Bryan Wilks. It's time someone avenged that hurt, and that person is me. . . .

Here I come Doc. We finally get to meet. Here's hoping you weren't expecting a "welcome basket" 'cause all I've got on me is my gun, temper, and one _angry_ bodyguard. No pleasantries to be had here just business. . .and a little justice. How's that for a "how-do-you-do?" Not good enough? Well, tough-titties. That's all you're gonna get from me buddy boy! In fact, that's probably more than you deserve.


	47. Changed Somehow

*** First of all, thanks to elissa27 and The Master Chief for their reviews. I appreciated the feedback. As for my drabbles being "stringy," I've purposely done this because a person's thoughts in general tend to be lucid, random, and even fleeting. Plus, I'm entering the minds of different characters, all of which have their own beliefs, philosophies, and voices etc. However, my drabbles will become tighter later on for a special reason, but I'm not going to reveal that reason just yet. (You'll all have to wait!) Now, to compensate for not writing in the last few days, here's an extra long drabble. ;) Read on and enjoy! **

***********

Outta all my years dispatching goons with Sal, she and I ain't never seen so much action as we did in the last couple days with Gemma. I'm fucking exhausted, and my Sally girl could use some rest herself. Shit. It's like trouble follows Gemma's ass like some sorta lovey-dovey suitor or something. I don't mind it though. Beats bouncer duty. . .still, it's kinda funny to think of it like that. Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah, instead of getting flowers, my new "mistress" gets wooed by getting shot at, burnt, and bitten. Ha! That's some funny shit that is. Funny shit.

Heh. What was even funnier was seeing the look on that scientist's face once we barged into his lab. The guy looked dazed, as if he had been struck dumb with the sight of us. (Or maybe he was just shocked to see human life; especially, human life with guns pointed at his face. Who knows?) All I know is he stood stalk still for about five minutes, with some drool coming outta his mouth, and then said, all outraged like, "What is the meaning of this?! Who are you people?" Damn absurd what it was. All I kept thinking was, "This guy's a genius?"

Gemma, she just kept her cool. I was impressed with the kid. Sure, she might appear all delicate and shit, but she is one tough cookie; in fact, I'd bet that if you took a bite outta her, she'd sure as hell take a chunk outta you.

Well, anyway, she looks at Lesko long and hard then tells the guy to sit his "rump" down. (Rump was her words not mine). Yeah, all I can say is _that _didn't go over well. It pissed that Lesko guy off. I mean, damn! I almost thought the guy was going to reach for some weapon or something, but before he could do _anything _Gemma pushed him into his office chair. Without blinking the girl points her pistol right up against that egghead's temple, and whispered something into his ear. I dunno what it was. Whatever she said worked though. The guy was all too willing to listen to Gemma after that. As for me, I remained as quiet as a fucking church mouse. . .yeah, talking really isn't my scene. I'm more of a, "shoot 'em up" kinda guy.

So, what followed was Lesko got ripped a new asshole, courtesy of the boss lady. I'm telling ya, it's refreshing to have a boss that cares more about others than themselves---and Gemma does. She really is a bleeding heart. . .but that's not such a bad thing after all. It's that heart of hers that broke Lesko's own rickety ticker; she made him see the error of his ways. The guy actually seemed sorry for what he'd done. . .but I'm telling ya it took awhile for him to get there. (I'm thinking their whole "pow-wow" lasted for more than two hours' time). Yeah, I almost dozed a couple times too while Gemma read Lesko the riot act.

I have to say, I think this Gemma's growing on me. Her whole reaction to what we saw at Grayditch. . .all that smoke, flames, and death. . .well, she didn't break like I half expected her to. Instead, it was as if her sorrow sparked an inner blaze within herself to fight harder, faster, and stronger. . . .Her attitude was almost contagious. I mean, I've seen some ugly shit in my day, but Gemma's reaction. . .it grabbed me. It was like I'd become numb to the violence, but this kid's genuine remorse shook me awake. She made me want to fight. . .not for my survival but for something more. . .perhaps for the innocence lost? I dunno. I'm not much for chewing the fat.

Anyway, once Lesko got his head outta his "rump" he struck a deal with Gemma. He said that, "Sure, she could go down there, neutralize the ant problem, and that she'd even get a 'surprise' outta it." I snorted at the whole "surprise" thing. Like what was _he _gonna give _her_? A lab coat? Nah. . .he gave her something else. . .something much more valuable: information _and_ a genetic upgrade. Yeah. That guy wasn't kidding when he said he had a "surprise" for her. Jesus! It sure caught me off guard (which isn't an easy thing to do either).

Damn F.E.V. experiments! Yeah, so Gemma and I had both guessed that Lesko was dabbling in F.E.V. crap once we'd found all his notes in that shack of his, but to actually _hear _it's F.E.V. is a whole other thing. News of that sort punches you in the fucking stomach is what it does. It's like all of a sudden all ya wanna do is let go of your lunch somewhere, so you can flush out all that disbelief your chocking on.

I mean, fuck! F.E.V. is some dangerous shit. It's better known as the _Forced Evolutionary Virus_, and I'd bet Sally that it's what has created all those mutey bastards that always want to eat us smaller folk! Damn. . . .

Originally, it was supposed to be a vaccine against any biological weapons that Communist China might drop on our American asses. (Well, that's the rumor anyway). Yeah, I guess F.E.V. was supposed to ensure that our troops wouldn't be decimated if they ever got hit with super viruses or anything with "super" in it's title. However, in typical scientific method the first try was a huge fucking flop. In fact, all F.E.V. accomplished was making test subjects bigger, bulkier, stronger, and meaner.

Heh. Still think that that virus wasn't the cause of our super mutant friends? Yeah. Uncle Charon didn't think so. . . .

And Gemma. . . . Her eyes became filled with absolute disgust. I thought she was gonna pull the trigger on her pistol, but she ended up only sighing deeply; it was almost like a sigh of defeat.

She then shook her head, letting that pony tail of hers sway from side to side. Afterwards, the "mistress" gestures for me come over to her, which was the signal to go dispatch of Lesko's ant queen. Goodie-goodie, some action.

I tell ya, it was one hell of a thankless job killing those ants. The both of us didn't say a word to the other during the whole ordeal. Well, that's not entirely true I guess. . .I mean, we did cuss whenever we got hit or were about to get hit, and shit. What? Surprised? You shouldn't be. I'd wager even a saint (like Mother Teresa) would even drop a "motherfucker" if a fire ant tried to burn their face off or whatever. I mean, come on! Shit. . . .

Damn. Those ant fuckers were some crafty ant fuckers. God, and that stupid fucking fat-ass ant queen! Jesus! The bitch not _only_ spewed fire at us, but also some sorta acid shit too. Goddamn thing's acid burnt my elbow to hell. . .not that nobody will really be able to tell. (Sometimes it pays to be a ghoul).

How did we finally kill the bitch? Answer: Teamwork. I distracted "queenie" while Gemma threw a couple grenades she got from Lesko's lab right into that fleshy hide of the beast's. The downside: we both got covered in ant queen chunks. Blech. I swear, I wanted to punch Lesko for that. Poor Sal. . .she looked worse for wear because of it. . . .

Well, to make an already long story some what shorter, Gemma and I managed to get ourselves back to Lesko's lab. And what do ya think my boss lady did? She did something that I thought took balls, and also a lack of brains. . . .She got herself injected with a strain of the F.E.V. virus.

Apparently, Lesko gave Gemma "ant might." It instantly made her, ah what did Lesko say? Oh yeah, 25% more resistant to fire, and also stronger too. Then the good doctor looks at yours truly. . .and approaches me with a needle. Great. . . .

I look to Gemma (hoping she'll say "no") but she shrugs, nods, and says, "It's okay." So, because she has my contract I_ have_ to do what she says, and I let Lesko prick my arm with some of that virus of his. Fucktastic. When he approached me I thought, "Good luck trying to find a vein buddy!" Bastard did though. . .somehow. Now, guess what? I've got something called "ant sight." This means I can sense more enemies. . .almost like I've got invisible feelers or some shit like that. Oh, and I'm also resistant to fire. Gee, doc "thanks."

Yeah, well, if I turn into a ghoul super mutant somehow then contract be damned. I'm gonna go on one hell of a rampage; Sally and I will be out for revenge. Heh. All things considered though, our upgrades _did_ come in handy 'cause we had some company waiting for us on the outside-----super mutants.

How many? Let see. . .about ten giant fucks. I "picked up on them" when we were nearing the entrance to the station. . . .that and I could hear them. Dumb bastards were so fucking loud! Gave me a Goddamn headache. . . .

I heard something else too. Crying. That Bryan kid was silently sobbing. . .wherever he was. . . .Luckily, our uninvited guests hadn't noticed Bryan yet. (Probably because the urge to chow down on barbeque was too much for them). Disgusting fuckers the lot of 'em!

Gemma, well, once I told her what I had heard she just ran outta that station like she had wings on her feet or something. That chick is fucking fast! Like "cheetah" fast. . .well, when their used to be cheetahs around that were fast, she was as fast as those cats.

Cursing, I followed little Ms. Speed Demon outside. I didn't really have to watch her back though. . . . It seems our new abilities make us better in the field. I swear, I think I saw Gemma lift one of those mutey bastard's clubs over her head, jump high in the air with it in her hand, then procedeeded to bash the mutey's skulls _in_ with it.

While Gemma was bashing in skulls, I decided to have some fun of my own. Smirking, I closed my eyes and calmly fired Sally into a direction of super mutant yelling, and (somehow) scored perfect kills each time. I don't know how I did it. (I mean, I've always been _good_, but I've _never_ gotten head shots like that in a row before). I guess, now, I am _that _good.

It all happened so fucking fast, the shooting, running, screaming, and fighting, but there was one thing that seemed to happen in slow motion: a miracle. Suddenly, this mutant drops his combat rifle and begins running at Gemma. I was about to shoot him, but he did something strange----he sacrificed himself for her. He yelled, "NO HURT ROSIE NO MORE!" The giant fucknut then threw Gemma aside (several fucking feet) and saved her from getting blown away by a grenade launcher. We both looked around stunned. . . . I didn't understand it. Still don't.

We've made camp now. Gemma's holding that Bryan kid. He tried to act all tough when Gemma told him about his dad, but, truthfully, I think he's cried so much that he can't cry no more. . . .

I can't sleep myself. I'm beat though. Fucking beat. . .it's just. . .Grayditch has changed us. . .and I'm still trying to decide if it changed us for the better or for the worse? And I'm also wondering about that one mutant. . . .I mean, why'd he do that? Are those things more than just monsters? God. . .I dunno what to believe. . . I guess I've just gotta be happy that Gemma and I made it through another day. Here's hoping it won't be one of our last 'cause the road my boss lady travels is definately a treacherous one. . . .

But, shit, I've always _liked _trouble; liked living each day like it's my last 'cause it keeps life precious in my milky eyes. Yeah, this kinda action always makes living exciting to me. In fact, I think I'm at my best when I'm out in the world, shooting up assholes with Sal. When caged, well, I ain't no use to nobody. Yeah, whenever I worked for shitheads like Ahzrukhal I would get rusty. I'd become a starving dog waiting to be thrown a bone----but, luckily, Gemma's thrown me one _hell of a _bone.

You see, she's given my servitude meaning again. I guess, she did that the moment she made me help her help Bryan Wilks. . .and I could get used to that. So could Sal. The both of us could get used to living for the benefit of the bigger picture again, instead of living for the pleasures of some insolent jackass. We could. Really. Doing good feels good (and I haven't felt good in a long long time).

Yup. I could get used to this. . .I could. Just watch me. Uncle Charon's back baby. Back, and better than ever! You can bet your sweet lil' ass on that. I'm back baby. I'm back and itchin' for a fight. . .but, first, sleep.

************

***Hey, guys. =) If any of you are in the mood for a story featuring solid writing, strong character development, and imaginative story telling then I suggest you check out Will Freedom's page. His story, "Branchtender's Adventures in the Wasteland," is simply wonderful! I'm hooked and I think you'll be hooked once you read it too! ;) Now go check out his page already! **


	48. The Weatherly Way

*** To all the readers that read this chapter before I edited it further: I am so sorry! I couldn't believe how many grammatical errors there were! (I even called Bryan's dad "Tom" instead of "Fred.) Now, I'm so paranoid I'll have to re-read my "those" related drabbles to see if his name is screwed up in them too. *Sigh* Again, I am so sorry. I hope you like the rewrite. ;) Thanks. **

**********

The letters have become less and less frequent lately. I swear, I think I would have lost my mind with worry if I didn't have this hotel to run. There is little time for a woman's thoughts to stray when someone is always asking something of her. Yes, there's always something to be done. . .like fluff the pillows, fix the meals, make all guests comfortable and happy. Yes sir, there is always something to be done to keep my mind fully occupied.

I'm sure Papa would have been proud of the way I'm running the place. It is still as he had originally envisioned it: lively, well kept, hospitable, and family owned. . . .Well, by one of his daughters anyway. . . .

Alyssa. . .if only you knew how sorry I am. . .about everything. I miss you my sister---and dearest friend. I was blind. . .so blind. . . .

God, I. . .I just want to know that they're alright. Is that so wrong? All. . .all I have left of Alyssa is that little boy of hers. . .Bryan.

I. . .I wish that I had been better to her. . . .I was so upset with her for going off with Fred. At the time, I only thought her behavior was merely infatuation. I just could not believe her when she said she _loved _him; I figured she was simply "crushing" on yet another young fellow who happened to wander into Rivet City. It was wrong of me to assume that of her. . .but Alyssa, well, she often did that. (Once she was in love with five young men at the same time. Five!) Indeed, it was typical of her to fall so quickly for a complete stranger.

Sometimes, I think she fell in love as frequently as she did, not because she honestly loved who she loved, but because she loved the romance, as well as the mystery of these men. Each were wanderers from the "outside;" each were foreigners to her, who had braved hostile territory just to find her. I suppose, Allie longed to be a princess saved from some gallant knight.

Still, Fred was different and. . .and I suppose that scared me. Unlike all the other men she "loved," Fred was the first to notice her. The first to _really _notice her. Instead of ignoring her advances, he welcomed them. Instead of laughing at her innocence, he laughed at his cynicism. Instead of leaving Allie far behind him, he held her hand as she walked beside him. Yes, this. . .this was definitely different. . . .

I wish. . .I wish I hadn't of let my anger and even my jealously of her consume me, but it did. I resented how my younger sister had found someone and I hadn't. I resented how carefree she was. How beautiful. How full of life! And what was I? I was the matron of the two; I was the one to clean her messes up, and tuck her into bed at night. God. . .why couldn't I just be happy for her? Why?

All I thought at the time was how foolish she was being. I thought, "_Great_ Allie. Go run around with this gentleman you _barely _know, while you leave me behind in the dust! Thanks for, once again, placing all of life's responsibilities onto my shoulders. I mean, 'wow' how adult of you?" Christ, I was such a bitch to her. . . .

It wasn't as if she was truly putting herself first either. . .it was more like she couldn't help herself. She had found it: True love. How could I of ever have asked her to give that up? Because _she_ discovered it and _I_ hadn't? Because _I _was the oldest and _she _the youngest? I. . .I long to turn back the hands of time so I could transport myself backward, in order to prevent all the pain I had caused her. My sweet Alyssa! How I wish I could have salvaged our relationship. . . .How I wish. . . .

And it wasn't as if she_ liked_ running a hotel or being a citizen of Rivet City (the "ship of fools" she called it.) I mean, who could blame her? There were times I didn't like it. . .that I even _resented _it. It was our parents' dream after all, not ours. Plus, Allie, she had such a spirit. . .she needed adventure in her life. I see that now. If only this need for "adventure" hadn't of gotten her killed. . . .

Oh! And the things I said to her! I. . .I looked into those big brown eyes of hers and accused he of being a "floozy." I said that she was blind thinking that Fred could ever love a child like her; I even said I had hoped she had kept her legs closed because all Fred wanted was a "good time." I also called her an outright embarrassment to the Weatherly name. It. . .it was horrible. . .all those things I said. . . .

So, after all my harping, I suppose one could imagine my reaction to the news she was pregnant? It was as if my head was engulfed in flames, I was so consumed with anger. In my rage I yelled the one thing that I _knew_ would hurt her the most----I called her a whore. A "two dollar whore," to be exact. It was a saying our Papa favored whenever he was upset with mama and had too much to drink. . . .I think "dollar" meant caps, but I honestly don't know. It was such an old saying. . . .

Alyssa, my sister, I am so sorry. It was _my _fault our bond became so strained; for it was I that cut that invisible thread of sisterly love into tiny little pieces, thanks to my bitter words. You were always the sweeter of the two of us. . .I guess that's why Mamma always called you "angel baby" and me "tough cookie." Allie. . . .

Before she died, Alyssa begun writing to me again. She even sent me some pictures of Bryan when he was first born. Mostly, she'd just let me know where Fred, Bryan, and she were. Her letters were never filled with anything beyond a status update, but it was better than nothing. Then. . .then when I got the news she had been. . .God, I cannot bring myself to think it! It was Fred who wrote me. . .and continued to write me.

I know he and Bryan are settled in Grayditch. . .but Three Dog's been reporting that that town has gone quiet all of a sudden. I couldn't bare to think that anything had happened to my nephew or even to Freddie. . . .They. . they're all that remains of my best friend, now ashes returned to the earth.

I. . .I've written to them. . . .I've written several letters in fact. Sent some care packages too. I. . .I just hope that they got my letters. I hope. . . .No. I mustn't think bad thoughts. I mustn't! No. No. No. I should get back to work. The hotel needs me. . .like it has needed me all its days, and will continue to need me until my dying day. So, I mustn't worry; I can't stop to pine over what was and could have been. No. Papa raised me better than that. It simply isn't the Weatherly way. . . .


	49. Chilled to the Bone

*** Just a shout out to my buddy Will Freedom: You're awesome! Thanks for the review. ;)**

***********

Despite the heat during the day, it's bone chilling cold at night. I think I could probably cut glass with my tits if I wanted to. Classy. . . .

Poor Bryan. When I told him about his dad he tried to put on a "brave face," but as soon as we were out of Grayditch his lower lip began to quiver. He didn't really begin to cry until Charon and I decided to make camp. What he went through. . .no child should _ever _go through something like that. Jesus, and to top everything off, Bryan had to witness our nasty firefight with the "boogie men." I only wish I'd dealt with that ant queen faster than I did. Maybe if I had then we all could've avoided running into those mutants? But (lucky me) I wasn't fast enough.

I still cannot understand _why _one of those. . .things saved my life? I've never once noticed intelligent behavior (let alone self sacrificing behavior) from a super mutant before. It was surreal. . . .

I guess some remnant of who they _used _to be previous to their exposure to the F.E.V. virus must be locked within their psyches somehow? This changes _everything_ I thought about them now. The memory of this day will be a constant reminder that the mutants were once people; they were once wastelanders that persevered, lived, loved----and lost. Who was this "Rosie," I wonder? Who was she and what did she mean to our mutant friend?

Huh. Shouldn't be thinking about this stuff. I. Need. Sleep. Wish Mr. Sandman would come visit me again. I'm damn tired. (Too pooped to pop in fact.) God. . .I miss sleeping in a nice warm bed. I even miss listening to my father thrash around in his quarters; I suppose I just miss the sound of my dad's voice. I'm beginning to wonder whether I'll ever catch up to my dad. As the old song goes, "Daddy, don't ya walk so fast. Daddy slow down some 'cause you're making me run!" Yeah, just like the song, except. . .except my daddy _didn't_ slow down. I like to think that show's how dedicated my father is to whatever "mission" he's on. That he's strong and not a quitter. . .and that I inherited some of those same qualities from him because, if I did, then that would mean I'm eventually going to find him.

Yes, and _when_ I find him I am **so **giving him _the _biggest guilt trip in the history of all guilt trips. In fact, I plan on it being_ the_ guilt trip to end _all _guilt trips! Damn skippy I will. I mean. . . . Jesus! I'm so upset that he. . .he just left me. Couldn't take me along, couldn't give me the decency of a simple explanation, and couldn't say good-bye except on a damn recorded message. (Real touching dad. Real touching stuff there).

Fuck! Dad, you _better _be alive because. . .because I can't find your corpse okay? I. . .I don't want to end up an orphan of the wastes like Bryan. . . . Stupid right? All things considered dad's probably deader than one of Butch's brain cells, which means I'm in the same boat as Lil' Brayn here. Still, I pray he has a relative somewhere. If he doesn't, well, then it looks like I've got myself I kid to take care of on top of everything else. . . .

Gee, it's funny where life can take you. A few months ago I was living within the confines of a well fortified vault. My biggest worries were dealing with Butch's idiotic teasing and the ridiculousness of the vault's rules. And I thought my life was hard? Yeah right. . . .What an idiot I was! I might as well have been Marie Antionette saying, "Let them eat cake," for all I knew. Ha. I was nothing but a whiner. . .I was never as mature as Amata. She always seemed to take things in stride; I'd bet she'd have found her dad by now if our places had been switched.

I. . .I wonder how she's doing now? It's almost Christmas, and I won't be there to exchange gifts with her this year; and I also won't be there to humiliate the Tunnel Snakes at the vault's holiday party. (Amata and I would always prank those suckers good). But. . ._will_ there be anything to really celebrate this Christmas? I know I lost my dad and Jonas, but I wasn't the only one to experience loss that fateful night. A lot of people were hurt. . .a lot of people died.

Death. . .he never takes a holiday (not even on Christmas). Nope. Death, the big "Grim Reaper," doesn't know how to take a sick day. I suppose, there are just too many souls for him to stab with that scythe of his. Fuckin' Death. Fuck you! Fuck you and the horse you rode in on! Prick. Why do people have to die? Why'd Bryan's father? Why Jonas? Why'd mom? I. . .I wonder why. . .why. . . .

Hmmm. . .Charon's talking to himself again. He just muttered something about a moose canon. What the hell is a "moose" cannon?! And why does a person need petrolum jelly to get said cannon to work? Yeah. . .just one of life's many mysteries I guess. (I'll make a mental note to ask Charon about this sometime when we're on the road, bored as hell, and the conversation is lagging).

Shit! Bryan's shivering hardcore. I'll give him some of my blankets and hold him tighter. It's not like it matters that much to me; I feel so numb now. Jack Frost must've bitten me one to many times, that, or my body's finally acclimated to the chill? Or (stranger still) maybe I'm becoming used to wasteland living? God. . .I hope not. The very thought chills me to the bone (which is ironic since I am now so cold that I can no longer feel anything, not even my tits).

*** I almost forgot to give credit to Charlie Rich. He originally sung, "Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast." It's thanks to Rich's classic tune that I was inspired to write this particular perspective. I hope you all enjoyed it! **


	50. Moriarty's Hallelujah Chorus

*** Happy New Year everybody! I'm back! =D Oh, and *Da isn't a typo. I'm of Irish decent and my family and I use "Da" to mean Dad. (Obviously). **

************

So. . .that wee lass from that great big fuckin' vault's back in town (and without her Da I see). Huh. I guess visiting that quack from the radio didn't help her much. She should've taken up my offer---twat. Oh, and what's this? She's got herself her own personal ghoul following her about? Ha! Aren't so "high and mighty" now are ya? That Gemma's no better than your's truly; in fact, she might be worse than me 'cause she says one thing than does another it seems. This is gonna go into me files for safe keeping.

Ah. . . .How it does my heart good to see this young thing corrupted by the wastes. Yes, how grand? How grand indeed! Damn tart's gonna break Gob's heart once he sees her manservant following her around. (Just another thing for me to shove down that putrid walking corpse's throat---which suits me-self just fine). If anything, it'll teach that butt-fuck _**not** _to hand out anymore "free drinks." Damn article he is! Feckin' fuck! After all this time under my watch, and he still doesn't understand the rules. . .I should give him a good wallop tonight, I should.

Huh. I suppose the jokes on my fucktarded friend. You see, sometimes (when I'm too drunk to stand) I piss in me own still. It's not as if I'm hurting nothin'. I'm only adding some more flavor to my brew; I think it gives it a better flavor---more musky if ya will. Mostly, I do it just to annoy the stuffing outta that Andy Stahl. I think my nightly pee excursions rub him the wrong way because my beer's more popular than his _even _with my natural juices swirling in the mix! Ha! I swear, I'm getting a hard on I am from just thinkin' about my victory over that worthless cocksucker. Poor boy. . .I think his obsession with me and my bar is giving him a complex-----fucker might even have a crush on me. Faggot. Hey, Andy! Can I help it that I'm God's gift to breweries, bars, and women? I can't ya see. That's just the way the Maker's made me and who am I to question his "infinite" wisdom and all that crap?

Well, what do we have here? Look's like 101 is talking to Doc Church. . .even hugging the dick. Funny. Her friends with an ex-slaver and all. It pays to have people in low places feeding you information (especially when they're junkies that need ya to give 'em that fix of theirs before the sweats start to kick in). Yup. Mr. Church used to work over in Paradise Falls. . .why he left. . .well, I'm still trying to piece that together. That man will be giving me as much meds as I ask for to keep his secret a "secret."

Yes. . .life is good when a man's business is good. Now it's time for me to go inside my saloon, knock boots with my favorite whore, and then beat Gob with a big stick. Sounds like a good plan to me. . . I wonder though. . .Is a man's work ever done? I suppose not; at least, not when the man in question is surrounded by a bunch of damn idiots. Yeah. . . . I guess a _real _man's job isn't finished until he's dead and unable to fuck a chick's brains out, or fuck over his enemies (unless that brilliant fuck's figured out how to outsmart death).

Hmmmm. . . .I wonder? With the way things are going for me perhaps I'll be that lucky bastard? As I said before: Who am I to question God and all His "infinite" wisdom and what not? I suppose if He _means _for me to keep on wallowing in success like a pig in shit, well, then so be it---I ain't gonna argue with the guy. In fact, I say hallelujah to that or "amen" or whatever it is a man is likely to say about such things. Yes sir, His will be done and His will's been good to me. . .Heh. . .it's been mighty good indeed.

Yeah. . .so praise Jesus and all that crap. Praise Jesus and cue the "hallelujah chorus." Hark the herald angels sing or whatever 'cause I'm walking on water kiddies---Moriarty's this land's second coming. I am God's gift. I am _His _everything and that Gemma, well, she's got nothing on me. (No man does). Ah, Gemma. . .you'll learn your place soon enough. Feckin' hippocrite she is. . .she'll learn. . .yes, she'll learn eventually. Everybody that's worth their salt in Megaton knows: I am a force to be fuckin' reckoned with. I _own_ this town as much as I own the souls of it's inhabitants---I'm kinda a god in my own right too. (Although, I'm not as forgiving. I'm more of an "eye for an eye" kinda type. . .and I'm gonna open 101's eyes wide to what Megaton's _really_ all about). Yes. . .anyway, enough thinking, time for me to grab my gal. Moriarty needs some love and care, if ya know what I mean? Heh. Hallelujah boys and girls. Halle-fuckin'-lugah. . . .


	51. One Good Human Short of Happiness

*** Riven Cole, thanks for your kind review. You're right: I did take a bit of a break. It was the holidays! I couldn't help myself. I'm back now though. Promise. ;)**

**********

Gone. His master was gone. Hadn't been around in what felt like an age. Dogmeat was scared for her. . .what if something had happened? What if she too had succumbed to the brutality of the wastes? The wastes was a bad place. A very bad place. Dogmeat knew that much about the world and his place in it: This land wasn't his land or her land, it was the land of the dead.

Laying on his belly inside the kind blond woman's home (a friend of his good human's) he whimpered. If Dogmeat had been a good boy he wouldn't have gotten himself wounded badly by a radscorpian the last time he and his good human had ventured out of Megaton. Bad dog he was. Bad. He pined for her. . .he should be with _her_, protecting her from harm, not lounging around back on the home front.

Dogmeat growled at the thought of her alone without him. Yes, he_ knew_ his master was what the other human's called "tough," but she was _still _his responsibility. The Capital Wasteland was a big place; it was a place occupied by large beasts and cruel "bad" humans that chased, cut, shot, and hurt _good_ things. (His master was a good thing, so she must be in danger? He hoped she wasn't.)

Well, at least, this "Megaton" place had kind people within it. Yup. Dogmeat had made plenty of friends here. There were these small humans that he liked. They would play with Dogmeat. The little girl, the little boy, and Dogmeat would frolic, run, play fetch, and roll around in the dirt together. He liked those small ones----they were both so much fun! Then there was this woman who was taking care of him. She smelled of roses, had a low soft voice, and a kind touch like his master. This human sometimes gave him bits of her human food. That was okay with Dogmeat because human food tasted way better than dog-food.

He also felt a fondness for the "Un-done Man." Yes, at first Dogmeat growled at this man because he reeked of decay and disease, but when this stranger gently stroked his fur Dogmeat sensed the "Un-done Man's" kindness. Since his master had left this man would often visit Dogmeat, giving him doggie treats, medicine from the "doctor" man, and always left him after scratching that unreachable spot behind his ears. . . .Yet none of these good humans could replace Dogmeat's good human, no matter how hard they tried.

Half asleep now, Dogmeat was about to take his noon nap when he heard the blond woman squeal. Immediately Dogmeat stood up, his hackles raised. . .but. . .what was _this_? The blond was smiling and saying to, "Follow her," so Dogmeat did.

It seemed as if most of the town was drawn to the big doors leading to the outside of their home. . .to the wastes. Confused Dogmeat smelt the air catching a familiar aroma. . . .Could it be? It could be! It was _her _scent. Sweet yet earthy. His human was home! Running, despite the pain in his right hind leg, Dogmeat shoved past the huddled crowd to reach his human. . .and there she was!

Tail wagging uncontrollably Dogmeat pounced upon his master, licking her face, and drinking in her smell. She was home. . .and look! She brought with her two _more_ good humans! This was more than Dogmeat could've ever hoped for: _His_ human was home, along with two others that smelt of goodness, and (for the first time in months) Dogmeat felt happy. Indeed, he felt like a good dog with a good human and a good home; he felt like he belonged once again, which is all any good dog could ever want or hope for---to _have_ love and to _be_ loved.


	52. Intriguing Creature

*** Thanks for your reviews Riven Cole! =)**

***********

So the valiant heroine has returned to the exalted _worshipping_ masses of Megaton. Perfect. Once Gemma's gotten comfortable I'll approach her about the bomb. I'm sure she'll see to reason; she appears the intelligent sort anyway.

Yes, Miss 101 will detonate that odious weapon for me, destroying this dust town once and for all. Of this I am certain. Her steel colored eyes have spoken to me you see. They've whispered that beneath that pretty little face of hers lies the soul of a leader---someone that realizes sacrifices must be made for the "greater good." And let us face it: Megaton is past it's prime.

It's a useless town. Barely defendable. A hastily built garbage heap fastened out of tin and other scrap metals; a joke for my vision of the future where such fortresses will be unnecessary. As for it's inhabitants. . .well. . .half are crazy atomic bomb worshipers, some guns for hire, and others cattle. All disposable. All a dime a dozen.

Hmmm. . . . Well, well, well it seems our girl's looking tired. Weary even. I can tell by the way her shoulders are sagging. I must say, she does look haggard. Must've gotten herself into a bit of trouble while out in the world? I suppose her ragged apparence might somehow be connected to her father. Yeah, I doubt she's found him yet.

Thanks to Three Dog's big mouth the entire wastes knows of 101's quest now. Sure, the man might be an obnoxious (even crazy) radio personality, but I have found his information forthcoming as well as reliable. A month ago he went on about Ms. 101 and her exploits then closed his little "rant" by begging her missing daddy to return to his baby girl. Heartbreaking stuff isn't it? Such information comes in handy for men like me. It's definately a nugget of intell I could use to my advantage, so to speak.

Huh. It's curious the company this one keeps. If not for my gut (which is rarely wrong) being certain of her capabilities then I doubt I would have _**ever **_considered approaching her for this mission of mine. . . . Yet, there is just something about this Gemma. Despite the fact that she hangs out with ghouls, takes in orphans, and talks to Moria I find her. . .I find her absolutely captivating. It's as if she walks on air; the way she carries herself is striking. _Not _that I care for her other than as a potential business associate. Such thoughts would be preposterous! Beneath me. But. . .I cannot deny it. . .Gemma is something. . .something special.

It is this special "something" of hers that glows from within her and out her eyes; indeed, it is what drew me to her. Her poise struck me as that of a person who knew how to get things done and get them done _right_. It also hit me like an anvil on the head what strength she seems to possess.

For someone so young, she doesn't seem to have that same naivety others her age (and even older than she) seem to have. No. 101 is a resilient little flower isn't she? Her world could be ravaged by the elements, but she'd still remain just as tall as ever. I find that quality rather valuable in a person.

Why didn't I just approach her to begin with? I wish I had. That Andrew was a waste of time. However, in my defense, I suppose I figured that being a former vault dweller and such a young thing she wouldn't be the logical choice for disarming an atomic bomb. (And who could blame me?) Ms. 101 didn't appear very remarkable to me at the time. I was wrong though. So very wrong. This girl. . .she's. . .she's more than meets the eye.

Ha. Just look at her. Now, while being steadily mobbed by her neighbors in Moriarty's, I (unlike the others) notice her for what she is: an enigma. She doesn't belong amongst the likes of them, even though she does play her part as a wastelander well. Unlike these weaklings, Gemma does what she needs to do to survive; indeed, she is quite the actress for making all these fools believe she cares about them. No. She cares for what I care for---the future. A world populated by brilliance, defined by prosperity, and rich in culture. (One unlike the Hell in which we wallow in now.)

Yes, Gemma is exactly what I need. She shall be my saving grace, my angel of mercy. With those delicate hands of hers she'll end Megaton and the suffering of its people, doing the world a great service. . .she _just_ doesn't know it yet. But she will.

As I live and breathe, she will soon come around to my way of thinking; in fact, we shall be waltzing amidst the ashes of this decimated town before the week is through. It's destruction cannot be helped. It _must_ fall to make way for the new world order: A utopia built upon streets of gold. What use is there for a scrap heap in such a world? There isn't. And that accursed bomb will no longer be a danger to the land either. Ah, such thoughts warm the cockles of my heart.

Damn. My bourbon's almost gone. No matter. I'll order another, for I think I'll stay awake as long as my girl does. Watching her soothes me for some reason. . . . Maybe it's because I know that she's the beginning of the end? Perhaps. Whatever the reason, she is certainly an intriguing creature. . .one I plan on getting closer to shortly.


	53. Sweet Dreams

*** A special thanks to Pale Shadow for reviewing most of my story! You rock! Thanks for your support! ;)**

**************

I'm not even back in town for a week before I'm approached to do someone else's dirty work. Fuck. Why is it always me? Am I some Goddamn beacon for "lost souls" and "creepers" to come to with wild pleas and asinine propositions? Shit. I must be. Why else would that "Burke" approach me, cryptically saying, "I've taken some notice of you. . .meet me tonight at Moriarty's. We have **much** to discuss _my angel._" Yeah. He actually said, "my angel." I wish I were making that up. . . .

Oh, I just bet you could imagine _my_ surprise. Before I could utter a single word of any sort of intelligence that spook had already made his grand exit. All I know is, whatever Mr. Burke wants, it _can't _be good. He just seems. . .what's the word? Off. . . . Like there's nothing of merit lingering beneath the shadow of that fedora of his, well, besides his bottom line and silent disdain for others.

I swear, the stick that's lodged up Burke's ass must be of "epic proportions." Fuck. I hate the way he treats the residents, like their cattle or something. . .makes me hot. (And by "hot" I don't mean "sexy hot," I mean, "I could kick him in the nut sack for his behavior hot.") Prick.

What makes this homecoming all the more fucktastic is Gob's behavior towards me. I think he thinks I'm no better than Moriarty for "owning" Charon. Christ, he might not even be wrong about that. It's just. . .I couldn't of made it out of down town D.C. without Charon's help. I _needed_ him; without him I would've ended up just another nameless corpse left out to rot.

You know, I'm sure our resident Irishman is the one that's turned Gob against me. I bet that fucktard told Gob that Charon's my slave and not my partner and that I never valued Gob as a friend, or anything. Asshat. If I could, I would pop a cap in that fat Leprechaun's package and rid Megaton of his bullshit. I would too. . .but I've got enough problems right now.

I mean, if I did that then I know that Simms would come arrest me or take me down or some shit like that. Yeah, I _really_ don't feel like starting a gunfight with the man. Sure, Charon might be one crack shot (especially thanks to the F.E.V. virus) but Megaton's sheriff isn't too shabby either. Plus, I heard Simms is a Regulator. From what I've heard about those guys, they are some_ tough_ customers (not to mention the fastest guns in Capital Shit-hole.) Yeah. . .I'm not going there. No thanks.

Fuck! Is it too much to ask for peace and quiet after being almost killed by super mutants, fire ants, and deranged raiders? Apparently not so in Megaton. God. . . .

I swear, with Gob mad at me, along with Burke's ominous invitation to meet up for drinks, my life couldn't get anymore complicated. . . . Oh, wait, it could! Because I am now Bryan's guardian (which is a job I feel completely unqualified for).

Also, on top of tracking my dad, I must try to locate Bryan's next of kin. Bully. Bully for me. Still, I guess it isn't all bad. Despite being asked to be everybody's errand girl, it seems the people of this town have finally warmed up to me; in fact, I was greeted with a heroes welcome when Charon, Bryan, and I managed to march through Megaton's massive metal doors. It was _insane_! My gut's tellng me that my little wasteland escapades have been circulating on Galaxy News Radio. Thanks Three Dog. Thanks a million. . .loudmouth.

Man, I can _not_ stop yawning! I am fucking zonked out of my mind. I think I deserve a cat nap. (A girl needs her beauty sleep right?) Anyway, it's hours before I'm supposed to meet "Senior Fedora Man" so I'm going to do what every girl does before meeting a man: SLEEP.

Plus, Charon and Bryan are both out and about. Bryan's bound to be playing with Dogmeat and some of the other children here, so he doesn't need me hanging around him right now. (That and I've made it very clear that he has to stay in town. If he doesn't then I'll feed him to the "boogiemen." Not that I'd _ever _really do that, but the important thing is _Bryan_ doesn't know that.)

As for Charon. . .I _think_ he mentioned something about visiting Moira; yeah, I'm sure he wants Moria to look at Sally (his prized shotgun). You know, if I wasn't so damn exhausted I'd head straight to Craterside Supply just to observe their "first encounter." Hmmm. . .I imagine Moira will be giving Charon a run for his caps. Heh. I wonder if he'll _actually_ deem her worthy enough to touch his "precious" Sally? Then again, perhaps maybe not. I mean, it's not as if Moira _isn't_ as nutty as a fruitcake (and I mean that in the nicest way possible) she's just. . .quirky. Very, very quirky.

Okay, enough dwelling on things I can't do anything about. The time has come to sleep the sleep of the dead. . .or at least the sleep of the comatose. It's just. . .I. . .I just want to drift off into a deep dark slumber. I long to float in the blissful oblivion that is dreamland; to morph for however a short time into a simple girl ignored by men, women, and children alike. Yes, that sounds like the ticket! Sleep. . .it's all I've got going for me at the moment. Yup, for some reason I have become everybody's everything, a "The Lone Wanderer," and champion of the wastes. When did that happen? Christ! It's damn frustrating. If only they could remember I'm _just_ a girl. Not even twenty years old yet! Fuck. I wonder if they'll ever realize this? Yeah, as if. . .but, a girl can dream can't she?


	54. A Mocking Blow

I knew she'd been traveling with a ghoul. The whole town did. Been on the radio and shit. So, was I "surprised" to see her with him? No. Truth is: I didn't give a flying fuck at the time.

You see, I didn't care about that. I hadn't ever. Not even when Moriarty strode in and started talking wise about her. I told him to stick it where the sun don't shine. All he did was _laugh. _He said, "Alright. I get it. Ya knew because of the radio. Aren't ya such a smart wee Git? Hahahaha. . .but it'll be different once ya see them Gobby. It'll be way different." Then, instead of smacking me, he _left. _Now, I wish he'd smacked me. . .instead of his "I told ya so" attitude around the bar. Goddamn Mick.

Fucking bastard was right. Seeing Gemma and Charon together did change things for me. It. . .it's almost like the sight of them ruptured something deep inside of me. I can't explain it really. . . .

Somehow, the more I looked at Gemma and Charon, the more I started to hate the sight of them. I just hated the way he followed her around like a Goddamn watchdog. Fuck. I mean, what was he to her? A pet? Did he mean more to her than Dogmeat? Or did he mean less? Such questions began to eat at me; they leached every positive thought I had had about her away into nothingness.

I mean, Gemma had been my friend. My one true friend. The only person in this cesspool of a town that treated me like a person. Not once was she ever uneasy with me because of my appearance or rude. She was always kind, funny, and calm around me. Yeah. . .and she was the only person that _ever _looked me in the eyes when talking to me. Nova. . . Nova didn't even do that.

I know I'm hurting her feelings by being so distant, but I can't help it. She and him together makes me sick. Disgusts me in a way nothing else has. I really wish it didn't. . . .

It's just. . .it's almost like Gemma's mocking me, ya know? Like having Charon is her way of letting me know my place. . .or a ghouls place. That. . .that might not be the case with her, but. . . .I don't know. All I know is a ghoul like me should be getting used to disappointment: It's all the wastes got to offer us.


	55. Bitter Truths

*** Thank you Stephen Frye for your kind review! I'm so glad you're enjoying my story. ;) I hope you like this installment too. Oh, and also a big shout-out to Pale Shadow and Riven Cole for their awesome feedback. Thanks guys! **

***********

Poor Gob. I wonder if he'll ever catch a break? I suppose that isn't likely while we're both Moriarty's slaves. . . .Still, I wish he'd talk to her. . . .

He's got to understand that the wastes are no place for women, _especially _young women. How do you think I joined the oldest profession known to man? By choice? Uh-uh. More like I was "sold" into it; before Moriarty I was just another wide-eyed girl, until slavers picked me up, and that Irish prick "bought" me. Fucknuts the lot of 'em.

I think it's a good thing she's got Charon by her side. He seems like one tough motherfucker (he'd even be my type if he wasn't already half dead). Anyway, now Gemma's got someone to watch her back while she's alone out there. . .which is something I wish I'd had back when I was younger, prettier, and more idealistic.

If only the big lug would see to reason! I tried to explain it to him, but I think my words only hurt him more. His eyes got all distant and milky. . .like the way they do every time I refuse his advances. It's. . .it's not like Gemma's Moriarty or anything. God, she's just trying to survive! Can't he see that? Shit. . . . .

Sometimes, all you can do is accept what's right in front of you. If you can't change it then embrace it. Sure, I hate sleeping with Moriarty's pale Irish ass every Wednesday and Sunday night. (I mean, you can't teach an old dog new tricks). However, it's what I do. . .and it's the only thing I know how to do. . . . I guess, all things considered I do it pretty darn well too. Still. . .mostly I keep on going because this is the only form of "love" I've ever known; the only time a man looks at me is when we're fucking.

Fuck. . . .The sooner Gob confronts the fact that Gemma needs Charon the happier he'll be. The two of them will move past this. I mean, they were so close before she left! They way they were together. . .it was almost like watching a little sister tease her older brother. I found it endearing.

Maybe. . .maybe if I got Gob alone again. . .maybe then he'd listen. It's Moriarty's poker night and he usually does that outside on his "veranda" as he calls it, so the bar should be pretty empty. I could approach him then. . .I only hope he doesn't get the wrong idea. He's a sweetheart but, the way he looks at me, like I matter. . .it's unnerving. I. . .I'll fix this rift between them. Gob deserves a friend and so does Gemma.


	56. Undoing

The world is a hell; a fearsome pit of anarchy, brimstone, and bitterness. Thanks to the Great War, we were brought to our knees as a people. Our worst vices came to the surface during such turmoil and insanity, leaving nothing but refuse in its wake. It has been my duty. . .no my _purpose_ to eradicate the Earth of us. We must start anew in order to begin again at all. I thought she would have accepted such truths on her own while traversing the brutal highways and byways of Virginia-----I was sorely mistaken.

To admit I am ever wrong isn't easy for a man such as me. You see, I am rarely anybody's fool. Lord on High knows I've survived this long because I'm good I do: reading people, places, and situations. I'm beginning to believe that she must've manipulated me somehow. . . . .

The moment Ms. 101 walked into Moriarty's I felt a change within me. A nervousness took over, one of which surprised me. How could this slip of a girl make me feel so uneasy? So awkward? I cannot simply write it off to the heat of intoxication because I'd hardly sipped my booze before she met me. Strange. . .all so strange. . . .

And hear I thought we were kindred spirits, willing to make sacrifices for the greater good of mankind. Ha! What absolute bullshit.

At our little meeting, when I told her what needed to be done to Megaton she only remained silent; in fact, I'd never experienced such a silence before. Even though she and I were engulfed in the rowdy brusque voices of drunks and junkies, it was as if the two of us were set apart within our own silent bubble. I can't rightly explain it. . .only it felt as if I were drowning in that unbearable quiet. It disgusted me.

It is I, myself, that am supposed to be the one calling the shots _not _the other way around. Instead, the wasteland's own Lone Wanderer made me wander in unease with her failure to respond to my proposition. Insolent bitch.

At last, after an eon crept passed us she simply shook her head at me; she'd refused me. Then, without a moments hesitation, the girl whispered, "Destroying life to create life only leads to more destruction, rarely does it lead to a utopia Mr. Burke." Unlike me, I remained still as she made her way for the door. I could not compell myself to move; in fact, I could only watch as her figure became engulfed in sunlight as she exited our dingy meeting place.

I wonder what she'll do now? Having made her decision to stand against me, she's only created a powerful adversary when she could've had an even more powerful ally. Anybody worth their salt would know not to cross me. . .yet she doesn't seem to care.

I don't intend to forget this. I _shall_ make her feel the weight of my presence. I shall. I swear, she will pay for her condescending remarks, even if a part of me senses such oaths well may be my undoing in the end. . . .


	57. Operation Cheer

*** Thanks for all your reviews everybody! ;)**

************

I was so happy when Gemma made her grand entrance back into Megaton. I even made her my super sonic brownies that night. They make you see purple elephants which is fun. (I think it's got something to do with the Sugarbombs and mentats I crumble up into the mix). Anyway, Gemma was in high spirits that day. . .but since then she's seemed deflated.

Yeah. . . .I'm not used to this dejected blah behavior from her. She's usually so peppy and such a conversationalist. I wonder what's gotten into her? It couldn't have been the brownies could it? I mean, Gemma _did _ask for the recipe so. . . .Nope. Not it. Hmmmm. . . . . . Then what?

Maybe I'll be able to cheer her up when I mention the new chapter I've cooked up for the survival guide? Yeah, that should do it! I mean, jeez-a-loo who wouldn't be excited to work with those sweet lil' old mole rats? Awe. . .so cute! I'd really like one as a pet, but Lucas Simms just won't see to reason.

Sure, they might be a _tad_ vicious, but I just think they're misunderstood. I bet if I could catch one, train it, and keep it then the whole town would jump on board the molerat loving bandwagon with me! I mean, have _any_ of these people looked into those sweet hard beady little eyes of theirs? Or truly noticed their cute scrunched up faces? So darling!

Huh. . .I wonder if Gemma might be willing to wrangle one for me? I'll think I'll ask her. . .but only if she's in better spirits. It just. . .Oh poo! It's like she's somehow got the weight of the world on those shoulders of hers. Sad! Gemma needs some fun, and I think working on our survival guide will brighten her mood; in fact, I've always found killing raiders very therapeutic (especially when their heads go boom, thanks to one of my newest creations).

You know, I _might_ make her a new weapon too. . .just to boost Gemma's happy meter up! Yeah. . .I'll do that now. I've got a great idea for combining the components of a plasma gun with a flame thrower _and _the blades of a lawn mower! Gee. . .I hope I don't burn my lab up again. . . .

Okay dokey. I'll get right on that! I can't wait to see her face once I tell her about the molerat chapter, Super Duper Mart, and this new weapon of mine! I bet she won't be able to contain herself with glee! I'll turn that frown of hers upside down and not with an explosion this time either, but from a gift. That's what friends are for right?

Ah, jeepers! I am so excited now, I can't contain myself! Hmmm. . .I think I might make another batch of brownies too. . .I wonder what would happen if I dumped some nuka cola in there too? Huh. . .never tried that before. . .I hope Gemma will like it just as much as the original recipe. . .or does she just like seeing elephants? Oh, well. Who cares? Elephants are majestic animals. . .much like the molerat.

Okay, to the lab! I'm ready to start "Operation: Cheer Up Gem" stat! Yay! This is gonna be good. . .now _where _did I put that screwdriver? Huh. . . .


	58. Doubtful Son

All the grown ups were beside themselves today; in fact, Jericho seemed to make the most noise saying, "Well, smack my ass and call me Shirley!" He's pretty weird though. . .carries around a teddy bear. It's creepy.

Anyway, that Gemma girl my daddy seems to like so much disarmed our bomb. Some people were yelling that what she did was heresy (whatever that is). Others thought what she had done was a public service, including my dad. Unlike him I really don't know what to think.

Sure, each of my friends are in love with her. . .but. . .I don't know. Megaton's Lone Wanderer kinda frightens me. . . .Yeah, I'll never admit that to anyone (especially my dad). That be humiliating.

I mean, jeeze! If I'm ever gonna be a regulator someday then I can't be scared of anything. Not even a deathclaw! Yup. The scum of the wastes are supposed to fear us, not laugh at us. Still. . .that lady gives me the willies.

She's nice and all. Funny even. . .but it's like something's missing inside of her. . .happiness maybe? Yeah. . . .I. . .I guess I wouldn't be very happy either if I'd lost my dad; I'd probably cry like a little pansy boy.

I'm grateful the bomb's gone. That was pretty boss of her. . .it's just. . .I can't make myself like her like the others do. Maggie even said she plans on exploring the wastes like Gemma once she turns eighteen, and that she's gonna name her first dog Dogmeat. Yeah. . .she really looks up to Gemma. I guess I'm different than the others. I mean, I don't wanna be her when I grow up; I'd like to be like my dad. He's pretty cool.

Huh. . .I guess I shouldn't be so scared of her. . .because she _did _get rid of the bomb all those "atomic nut-bars" (as my dad call's 'em) used to worship so. . .I guess that proves she's okay? I don't know. I just can't really like her. . .it's almost like she's. . .she's acting a certain way around everyone in town. . . .There has to be something wrong with her anyway. . . .I mean, she did rescue Bryan Wilks and that kid is just plain annoying! He and Maggie are always going off together. Not that I care or anything. . .but he's always talking about those fire ants and how badass he was with them. Whatever kid. . .I bet he peed himself when he saw his first one! Yeah. Dork.

Still. . .maybe Gemma's not that horrible. I mean, if dad likes her then I'll give her a chance too I guess. However, if she starts any trouble in Megaton I'll make sure to deal with her. I mean, we've all gotta face our fears sometimes right?


	59. Young Love

*** Thank you all for your reviews. **

**Also, to CHARLIE, if you want to submit a story then you should upload it under your own name etc. However, if you'd like me to look over your story then simply message me or find yourself a beta reader. Thanks. **

**********

He knows how much I care for him. . .hell, so does everybody else on this junk heap of a ship. Everyone knows I love an unattainable man; that he's pledged himself to God rather than pledge himself to me. It's hard to concentrate on much of anything when your mind wanders to visions of you and him together. . . . Makes helping my dad with the diner unbearable.

I mean, how is a girl supposed to sweep, bus tables, or take orders when she's heart broken? The answer: not very well. I don't know how many times I've screwed the pooch with customers since we first met, but I can tell you it's been _plenty_. My poor dad. . . . Because of my extra clumsy behavior, some of our regulars are seeking service elsewhere. I guess "daughter of the year" isn't going to yours truly. . . .I hope he knows how sorry I am.

Dammit Diego! I know you care for me. I know it. It comes as naturally to you as it does to me! It's like breathing for us.

Those brief longing looks you've given me whenever we're in the same room. The way you squeeze my hand reassuringly whenever we somehow touch unexpectedly. Oh, and how you've held me when I've cried in your arms! You whispered the most beautiful promises into my ear only to forsake them the next day. . . .

If you are _so_ determined to become a priest then why. . .why would God have us meet then? For his own cruel amusement maybe? I don't know. . .all I do seem to know is that I love you since the first moment our eyes met, and you said, "Hello, my name's Diego. What's yours cutie?"

Christ! If only I could shut off my feelings. . .but I can't. Thoughts of you bombard my consciousness constantly, especially the things we've talked about and shared. You were. . .were the only person I've ever talked to about my mom. And wasn't I the only one you ever opened up to completely about your family? I doubt even Father Clifford knows the whole story about your father's alcoholism; in fact, I bet you haven't told him that it was your dear old man that killed your mother Estella in a fit of drunken rage while you watched. No. . .I'm the only one whose heard the entirety of that tale. . .and shall keep it hidden inside of me forevermore. . .if only I could do the same with my love for you.

Why deny these sweet feelings? Why? It's cruel Diego and you know it! I have pleaded with you, have told you I'd do _anything._ . .anything to please you. (I even said you could take my virginity before marriage if that's what it'll take for you to stay!) Why then? Why after all this won't you simply say these four little words back, "I love you too?" If there is _any_ love in you then you'd at least admit that to me before you take your vows.

Please, if we can't be together. . .at least let me know that you cared. Until then I guess I'll remain your lovesick girl. . .the one with the yellow hair and the tear stained face.


	60. Overruled

*** A shout out to Pale Shadow and Irving Forrest: Thank you both for your reviews and for your encouraging words! ;) Now for the story. . . .**

***********

Nothing can touch me here. This is my domain; this is my own personal oasis. Without me, what would these people do? Nothin' but die I suppose. Yup. I'm the king of the castle in this settlement (named after the supreme ruler himself---me).

The Republic of Dave is heaven on earth to these wanderers. A goddamn paradise and I it's God. Sure, it used to be "The Kingdom of Tom" run by my _dick_tator of a father Tom. Grade-A asshole was what he was. Ya know, the best thing I ever did was overthrow that prick's regime. When my dad was "king" he was all about mum's the word, praise me, and let's beat the shit out of our wives. Fucker. He also liked to sneak into my little sister's room at night. . .I'm pretty sure he touched her. . . .

Yeah, that man wasn't a man at all. . .more like a monster. If I hadn't of stood up against "King Tom" then that old fucktard would still be terrorizing everyone and their mother. I fuckin' hated my dad. Fucker. Yeah. ..so one day I killed him. Had enough, ya know? But. . .but my mom she. . .she loved him despite everything. . .wouldn't listen to reason, so she took Janie (my sweet sister) and herself and left home for good. Lord knows what happened to them. . . . Probably got eaten, murdered, or taken into slavery.

I've tried to send men out to look for them but the men I send tend to disappear on me, so I've stopped the search parties. Oh well. . .it couldn't be helped. My old man had to die and die he did; in fact, I don't remember ever being so happy as when I had killed him. It was classic: I made that fucker eat his own dick. (I thought it only fitting). Then I slit his wrists and let him bleed the fuck out. It was beautiful.

Since then I think I've done a pretty damn good job at ruling. I've given these people a democracy; a safe haven from the insanity that are the wastes. Also, I've given men the ability to experience "free love." Yeah, believe it or not, my dad had his devotees, so there was some bloodshed after I assumed the thrown. Long story short: We need to repopulate. Yes, I love my first wife Rosie, but I wedded Jessica to help repopulate our Republic. Rosie understands. . .and it's not like we don't have our own fun. . . .

After I killed Tom, I was exiled for awhile. Had to get me some followers before I could make things "official" and then I ran into the prettiest woman I'd ever seen----Rosie.

She, along with her caravan group, took me in, fed me, and saved my life. Somewhere along the way Rosie also stole my heart too. . .Yeah. . .she's pretty solid. I think I'll keep her around for a spell longer. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Jesus, the one thing I regret about my democracy are the elections. Sure, I've rigged the ballot boxes. . .but there is a chance I could lose. You never know, right? I mean, Christ! I'm _the_ best thing that's ever happened to this sorry band of wastelanders. Shit. Once the crown gets passed onto someone else, well, it could all go to hell in a hand basket again. Fuck. Ya know what? I'm not going to worry about it. This place will be mine until the day I die of old age, my body withered away to dust. Yup. Until then. . .well, I guess I'll continue to rule this republic right; I'll keep the "Daveness" of Dave going strong**.**


	61. Everything's Super Duper

*** Thank you Pale Shadow ad gPhoenix51 for your reviews! You guys are the reason I keep on updating this fic. ;)**

************

I'm glad to be out of Megaton for awhile. . .even if it is on one of Moria's crazy "survival guide missions." Oh well. . .however crazy she might be at least she's been a good friend to me. I mean, while everybody else is either looking at me in reverence, fear, or contempt Moria's always been. . .well. . . "Moria" to me. I guess that's why I like her and her loony tunes ways (that or I've been hit in the head one too many times since I've been out here).

Christ! I disarm that bomb and it's like I'm either a saint or a sacrilegious bitch. Wonderful. I only took care of that thing after I'd discovered what Mr. "Creepazoid Fedora Man" wanted to do with it-----blow that mother sky high, along with everyone else in Megaton. How thoughtful of him. . . .God. . .and the way he was looking at me when we met at Moriarty's. . .like he was undressing me with his eyes or something. . .I don't know. . .it. . .it just gave me chills.

The ironic thing was, he wanted me to activate that atomic death machine for "the greater good." Yeah. . .because nothing says noble cause like incinerating an entire settlement of innocent people. Now, if he had asked me to do that to Paradise Falls then sure, why not? All the Falls is filled with is raider slaver scum anyway and the occasional pedophile (I've heard stories from survivors). Maybe one day I'll be able to do something about those bastards, but. . .as for right now my goal is finding my dad, helping him with Project Purity, and, oh yeah, kicking some major ass at Super Duper Mart. Yay for me. . . ..

At least I'm no longer alone out here. . .I _do_ have Dogmeat and Charon. . .even if Dogmeat can't talk and Charon chooses not too, it's nice to have the company. Plus, Charon says the most hilarious stuff in his sleep! One night I heard him say, "Go go Spiderman, I got your back G." Hahahaha. I have absolutely no idea what it means, but Charon muttered it with such conviction that I couldn't help myself. . .I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. Next time the big lug mutters something while sleeping, I'm going to have to remember to record it on my pipboy. I swear, his insane ramblings are comedic gold!

Huh. . ..looks like we're about ten miles away from Super Duper Mart. I can see the building from here pretty clearly. Charon's already starting to drool at the thought of combat. How do I know this? Simple: he pets or "caresses" Sally when he's excited for a fight. A little weird but at least he doesn't make out with his shotgun. . .at least I don't think he does. . .wow that was an unsettling thought. . . .

Okay, _focus _Gemma. Concentrate on the task at hand. Infiltrate that poor dilapidated excuse for a supermarket, kick whatever butt is in there, and get out before you can say, "Go go Spiderman." Right. . .easy as pie. . .and like any typical young girl, I'm ready to die another day. Whoopee for me! Shit. . .if I make it to twenty years old it'll be some kinda miracle won't it? Yeah. . .some kinda miracle or some kinda sick joke, I haven't really figured which yet. . . . .Yup. Real super isn't it? Real fucking super duper. . . .


	62. Loveless

*** Riven Cole, Stephen Frye, and Defender93 you are all awesome! Your reviews make my day! Thank you! Anywho, this drabble is Valentine's Day inspired etc. Hope you guys like it. ;)**

***********

I think all anyone wants is to be loved and to love another in return. . .at least that's my opinion on the matter anyway. Life is without meaning if it is without love. I would know too since I've never been loved by a hand that's touched me. . . .I've only ever been some John's whore.

Sure, sex is supposed to equate love making but for me it's merely fucking. Ugly fucking. Still. . .it's all I've got going for me. . . .

In the moment, whomever I'm with always says I'm a beautiful goddess or some other bullshit like that. Yeah, and fuck me if I don't believe them too! God, if but for an instant I fall for their lines and think to myself, "This one, this one might just stay." Every time they leave though; leave me with only their caps by the nightstand to show they'd been there.

It just. . .I have this hope that. . .that one of them will "fall" for me, ya know? That I won't just be some skank to screw, but an actual person to one of them. Stupid I know. So very fucking stupid. . . .

I guess I was wrong earlier. . .there is one man that looks at me unlike all the others. . . .It's Gob. Sometimes I think, "To hell with his condition," but I always stop myself before I let anything happen between us. I don't know. . .the whole ghoul thing frightens me. . . .It always has. If we. . .we made love. . .wouldn't he fall apart or something? I keep having visions of his dick getting stuck inside me or something. (Yeah, not a pretty picture).

Fuck me. . . .Ya know? It's the knowledge of his feelings for me that truly scare me. Sure, I want to be loved. . .but. . .Gob's longing stares make me feel as if I'm a hunk of meat. Does he want to eat me or kiss me? It's. . .so strange. . . .

One day, perhaps, I'll be able to give that poor guy what he wants. . .maybe. I don't know. . . .For now all I know is I'm lonely, tired, and aching for someone to hold my hand; I'm aching for a happy ending. Yeah, like those ever existed anyway. . . . .


	63. Dick On Duty

*** Thanks for all the reviews guys! I can't believe you've stuck with me for so long, and that you've given me 100 reviews! WOOT!**

** Oh, and Pale Shadow, your review made me snort I laughed so hard. LOL And don't worry, I'm not big on ghoul love either. I promise that I won't write about ghoul "love making" of any kind. *Shudders* Icky. Anywho, I hope y'all like this next little diddy. Take care. **

************

We came to this run down super store a couple months ago. . .man, it was a fucking jack pot. To think that one little grocery outlet could outlast the Great War and all its destruction, right? Fuck! And _we _fucking found it too! Hell to the yes my friends. Hell to the yes.

Now, my peeps and I are all livin' it up like kings. It's great. All the eats we want, all the drugs we want, and all the chicks we want too dawg. All those _fuckable _chicks. (Sure, some of 'em don't have pretty faces are nothin, but who cares about their faces anyway? I mean, it's not the face that's important it's where a guy can stick it to 'em that is.)

My best gal is Tiffany Jones. . .damn just thinkin' about her makes me hard. After I'm done with guard duty I'm so gonna tap that. . . .I especially love the way she totes her rifle. . .right above the small of her back, so a fella can get a good look at that magnificent ass of hers. Oh yeah. . .plus, she's crazy good at knowing how to please her man. Heh.

Yeah, life is good at "The Mart." Nobody wants to challenge us, let alone on our own turf. Hahaha. . .and when they do, well, we take 'em out. I especially like torturing families; the look on a father's face when you touch his little one's tits. . .fucking priceless.

Sometimes, (and only sometimes) I can feel kinda bad for them. . .scrounging like rats for food and all. I mean, that sucks balls I know. Still. . .but if they weren't all so damn stupid! Stealing from fucking raider? Yeah, that's a brilliant plan. . .goddamn idiots the lot of 'em. (Probably all inbred Wasters anyway).

Hmmm. . .I got one of Three Dog's tunes stuck in my head. How's it go? I don't wanna set the world on fire, I just want to. . .what is it? Shit bricks. Marcus would know. That kid knows everything about music. Brilliant with a banjo too. . .the only thing I can't stand is how I've caught Tiff staring at him while he plays. Jesus, girls and musicians. . . . Whatever. I've got a faster trigger finger than Marcus if it's gonna come to that. Yup. I'd blow his brains out faster than you can say, "Johnny B. Good." Hahaha. . . .

Wow. I'm fucking tired, bored, and horny. I doubt anybody mind if I left my post at the doors for too long. . .I'll only need fifteen minutes with Tiffany to set me right again. Fuck. It's not like anybody's gonna waltz right in here anyways. . .This place is like a fucking fortress and shit. Yeah. . .and I got an "itch" that needs scratching, and it's itching pretty fierce if ya catch my drift. Oh yeah. . .here I come baby girl. Here I come ready to bang the gong and get it on. Fuck me, I'm ready and willing. Hahaha. . .that's funny. I'll have to remember to whisper that in Tiff's ear. She loves that shit but more importantly she's retarded for me, and I'm all the retard she needs. Oh yeah.

***********

*** If I offended anyone with my use of the word "retarded" I am sorry. I don't normally use or like using it, but (considering the character) I figured this "winner" would throw it around without really understanding it's meaning. Again, I'm sorry for any offense I may have caused. **


	64. Girl, You Really Got Me Now

Jesus. . .we're under Goddamn fire here! FUCK. Who are these fools anyways? Like freaking ghosts how they move. . .first Richard then. . .then. . .all hell broke loose.

Got him right when his back was turned.

Poor bastard's throat was cut (and like that wasn't enough) his neck was broken for "good measure." I can only guess that there's strong motherfuckers in here did that. I mean. . .it's not like a woman could inflict that kinda damage, right? Not unless she was Wonder Woman herself or something. . .Heh. . .wouldn't mind that so much as long as she was wearing the same costume as that sexy avenger. . . .

Dammit Flick! Now isn't the time to get a hard-on. . .Okay, gonna stay focused. Eye of the tiger baby, eye of the tiger. . . .

Shit. I've got the shakes on top of everything else; if anyone asks later I'll say I was going through jet withdrawals. I mean, I'm a big boy. I've seen my fair share of butchery in my twenty-one years. Fuckin'-A I have. Like that time I saw my best mate Andy torn in half by a deathclaw. . .his guts hanging all loosey goosey outta his beer gut. Yeah. . .and his blood hitting the rest of us right in the whites of our eyes. God, that was fucking fun. . . ..

I wonder if Dick had any time to react? Was he aware enough to know, I mean really know, that his throat was leaking his precious juices every where? Damn. . .I hope not. Andy the "tank" Morgan was pretty aware. Begged for one of us guys to shoot him in the head before that monster dragged him off to whatever dark hole it crawled out of. We couldn't though; in fact, we were all too damned shock to do anything.

DAMMIT! Was that Sue getting her brains splattered all over the floor? And what's with all the smoke? Those sneaky fucks brought smoke grenades with them. . .why am I not surprised? Huh. This is starting to feel like we've stepped into an old school Batman comic. . .the Dark Knight calmly taking us bad assess out one by one.

Okay, Flick now's the time to be a hero. . .MOVE.

Ha! I made it behind the fifth register. Time to unload on these fuck-faces. Oh yeah, get some! Hahahaha. . . .This here's for my peeps! Take that and some of that! Woo-who! Fuck yeah!

I think. . .I think it's over. All's gotten pretty damn quiet; I bet I could hear a pin drop in this place. . .well, if one was dropped anyways. Yeah. . .I'm gonna leave my defensive position, it's over. . . . .

What the?! Son-of-a-bitch! SUCK MY SUCK! That fucking hurts. . .Dammit. . .that ancient protectron was activated and it's fired a fucking laser at me! FUCKITY FUCK! I gotta get outta here. . .gotta make a run for it. . . .

Eat this you robot asshole! Yeah. . .gotcha right between the eyes. Pussy. Damn, this really hurts; my chest feels like it's on fire where I got hit. . . ..

Can't see too well. . .vision's getting blurry. . .must keep moving. . . . .

Hahahaha. . .can't. Look! It's Wonder Woman! Hey, care to kiss this and make it better? Hahahaha. . . .that got her attention, now if I could only reach my gun. . . .

Heh. Too late. That girl's fast (almost like she does have goddess like power). She's stabbed me. . .stabbing me. . . .But. . .is she crying? Heh. This ain't such a bad way to die. . .a pretty gal crying crocodile tears for me. . . .Sure, she's knifed me but. . .nobody's ever cried for me before. Beats the pants off of Andy's grand exit and Dick's. . . .Look's like I got the girl. . .nah, more like she got me. . . . She got me real good too; my heart's about to stop beating. . . . .


	65. Child of Atom

*** Thanks again for all the reviews/ support guys. It means a lot. Oh, and Collateral47, yes Wonder Woman is Gemma and the perspective that of one of the raiders at the mart. ;)**

**Also, not all of this was mine. Anything about the "power and divide" is from the game. Bethesda, that is all you. I take no credit for it. **

**Now, to our story. . . .**

************

That insolent girl! What blasphemy she has committed against the one and only ruler of us all, "Father Atom!" I'm sure our most exalted god will strike her down; the very particles which make up her female form shall revolt in response to her vile actions.

To think myself and my fellow believers were praying for that heathen's soul while she was gallivanting about in the wastes. Ha! What fools we were. Deceived by the darkness itself for ever admiring Ms. 101's reputation. That Three Dog is no better! Deluding the masses with his lies about this "Lone Wanderer." (A she-devil is more like it.)

For anyone to desecrate the hallowed shell of our beloved Lord, proves that they must be made of a most insidious evil. . .of dark matter. Yes. My children must be made aware of this! No more will our voices be raised in earnest to protect that foul husk of a woman. Indeed. We shall pray for whatever malevolent forces are at work inside her to be decimated by Him who has created all things.

Such impertinence! To touch the shell of greatness and to manipulate its power, so as to prevent it from someday consuming us all in a vast white light of release. A foul dreadful sin, made by a foul dreadful sinner.

No matter what that creature does, the children of Atom will be wise to her games. I shall preach against 101! I shall. The world must know of her treacherous nature; in fact, my disciple Dillon might be ready to start his pilgrimage, and on it he can spread the truth about Gemma. Yes. . .tonight at dinner I will approach the lad about this. His heart is strong, good, and true----if anyone can withstand the eye of a storm it is this gentle lamb.

Oh, Father Atom give us strength in these difficult times ahead. I know there will be ignorant fools in Megaton as well as out there who will doubt that. . .things malevolence. Yes, there will always be the unenlightened. Help us remain resilient to our cause: spreading your word.

My sweet leader, I pray I do not disappoint you who have shaped our fragile forms. I shall be your pillar, your voice, and your wrath; your children shall be your ever devoted vigilant flock. My life for you master. My life for you.

The children and I give our bodies to you. We release ourselves into your power, to feel your Glow and be Divided. And I know that there shall be no tears, no sorrow, no suffering, for in the Division, we shall see our release from the pain and hardships of this world. I promise Father. To this I swear my life. Amen.


	66. Wet Faced

His good human was making the wet face again. Water was poring from her eye holes. She was even whimpering over the bad human man she had killed. This made Dogmeat confused. Why cry for this man? He hadn't been like his master at all----he was bad.

This bad man had kicked master, bit her, punched her, and had also made his master's friend that smelled of decaying things bleed green goo. To Dogmeat his master had done the right thing by stopping this guy's barking; in fact, Dogmeat even thought it a kindness for now the man could sleep, and his "badness" could forever be silenced while dreaming.

It was a flash of light, a loud "bang" noise, and a boomstick that had ended the life of the mean human. The smell of gun powder still lingered in the air. It made Dogmeat sneeze.

Nose twitching, Dogmeat began to pace the aisle where that last human fell. He growled. Dogmeat wanted out of the Mart. It reeked of spoilt meat, piss, garbage, and his master's sadness.

Ears pricked, Gemma's canine companion listened to her sobs. They weren't like some human's, where they can be loud, gurgling, or wailing. . .no they were soft quiet sniffles. Dainty even. The grieving of an angel. . . .

The other human (the dead but not dead man) was standing awkwardly by one of the register thingies. He was smoking a cigar he'd found, puffing out steady clouds of tobacco from his cracked mouth. Dogmeat could sense the man's unease; it was in his posture and his scent.

Growling the dog decided to patrol this dark unpleasant place. Hackles up, ready for a fight, he swept through each room with a desire for blood. Dogmeat wanted to kill any remaining "terribles" that hadn't already been killed, so his master didn't have to. It seemed she'd had enough carnage for one day. . . .

Tired, Dogmeat found his way back to his human. She had grown mute now. No sound was coming from her, but tears continued to fall softly down her cheeks.

If a dog could sigh irritably then Dogmeat would've sighed. He felt utterly helpless. All he wanted to do was stop his master's pain; it radiated off her body in waves of heat, making Dogmeat sick with worry.

Unable to think of anything else, Dogmeat nudged his head onto Gemma's lap. Here he would stay, providing her comfort and companionship. He would be her pillow on which to cry if need be. . .and though he itched to leave the Mart he would stay for her. She needed to be here for now to mourn a loss Dogmeat couldn't quite comprehend: the loss of innocence.


	67. Gun for Hire

*** Thanks to Riven Cole and Shichu for their reviews! You guys keep me writing. ;)**

I've sent Tenpenny a letter. Told him about Megaton and the girl. He was less than satisfied. As for myself, I am beginning to find the whole thing quite amusing. That such a delicate wisp of a lass would ever cross me? Ha! Funny how speechless she left me; it was as if my voice left with her retreating form.

Some part of me continues to smart from our last encounter. How brazen she was! To whisper self righteous crap into my ear. . .to give_ me_ a lesson in humanity felt surreal. Yet, after all that, the elusive "Lone Wanderer" remains intoxicatingly fascinating to me. Perhaps I've grown soft? I'd hate to think I was losing my edge, for the minute my senses dull is the minute the future falls.

It is up to discerning men like myself to make the sacrifices needed in order to ensure the sanctity for our future's vision. Lesser individuals would have cracked under the pressure. . .since_ I _am stronger than most I must persevere. It is a shame she won't fight with me. I could use her prowess, tenacity, and will out there in the wastes. . . .Huh. Doubtful she feels as if she needed this gun for hire. . . .

It's a shame that old bastard will want her eliminated. I can smell his hatred on the air; he will demand his pound of flesh for not getting his own way. Pity. Gemma was such a rare specimen to find lurking out in this degenerate shit-hole. I suppose he'll hire me to kill her? Anything more than that would be excessive.

We shall see what his demands are. Tenpenny isn't the one calling the shots at the end of the day is he? No. He is simply a resource to be used, manipulated, and then discarded. Oh, how I will relish the day I get to put the nail in that miser's coffin. It puts a smile on this face of mine. To celebrate that happy event I might even buy myself another fedora. . .and if she is somehow living a white rose. I know where some grow.


	68. Festering

*** Hey, thanks to everyone for their reviews! I heart them. Also, sorry for the short chapters. I promise to upload longer ones soon. ;)**

****************

It's been a fucking long ass time since that uppity chick Gemma waltzed outta Underworld. One hell of a fucking long ass motherfucking time if I'm gonna get all "poetic" and shit about it. Son of a whore! I'm not gonna care what her excuse is; in fact, I could give on big old dump about it.

Damn. All I care about is my revenge. There was no reason I should've ever ended up here, in this armpit of the wastes, as a freakin' zombie! Balls! Fucking blue fucking balls! I was a man once. A real man. Then I had to take Tenpenny's job. . . .

Now, (instead of being knee deep in some young things pink taco) I gotta get my jollies off with someone like me. Yup. I might as well say it: I'm a mower of dead grass. A master at necrophilia. . .thank Christ for alcohol! It gives a man some nice beer goggles to wear.

Huh. . .speaking of drunk goggles, Sadie is looking good to me (and she is missing her nose). Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! If only I hadn't of gotten screwed over by those fuckers then Sadie wouldn't be my horizontal dancing partner. FUCK.

Alright, here's how its gonna go: I'm going to leave this dump in a month if that girl doesn't keep up her end of the bargain. Lone Wanderer or not, she'll regret pulling the wool over my eyes that's for damn sure. No. I'll make it a point to put a smile on that pretty lil' face of hers----with a pen knife.

Hurry Gemma. Hurry, hurry, hurry along. The clock is ticking.


	69. Big Fish

*** Thanks to all my fans for sticking with me this far! Now for a (drum roll please) long chapter! Yay! =) **

***************

I pride myself on being a shrewd business man. Whenever an opportunity presents itself (one that I find favorable) I reach for it, usually making a killing in the process. It is because of my keen mind that I have flourished in this cesspool while others have floundered; hapless goons that drowned under the weight of their own stupidity.

Yes, I am a captain of industry. I am a man not to be easily trifled with or (crudely put) dicked around. If you decide you are ballsy enough to double cross me. . .well, it will be the last worst decision you will ever make. If only today's young people would simply learn that nobody misuses Allistair Tenpenny, for I am god.

Oh, you can try to put the wool over my eyes, but it has yet to work. Few lads and lasses are cut out to swim alongside the "big fish" as it were. Indeed, dollars to donuts these misguided children fold under the cutthroat environment in which I have long thrived in. However, it doesn't hurt a chap to have certain connections. . . .You see, men like me rarely operate without muscle. Our "friends," rarely like to see their source of income being jerked around. Such a thing would be unthinkable; as prosaic as farting in front of the Queen Mother herself. It is simply not done.

Men of my pedigree deserve a modicum of respect; in fact, we not only deserve it we demand it. You see, we came before today's youth and we paved the way for their success. It is because of men like me that the wastes are more bearable for the common rabble. We were the dreamers, the risk takers, and the jetsetters of the age. We were the gods of industry which lifted the masses up with our greatness. Yes. . .we must have a due from the people. I must have my pound of flesh. It is the only fair course of action. I am owed as much; it is my right.

So, when Megaton decided to compete with my blessed tower what could I do, but wish its destruction? That trash heap of a town is not a worthy competitor. It is much too ugly to have a greater population than that of my masterful fortress. (That and it is an eyesore). I can't have my tenants looking out onto the majestic nature of Virginia, only to be blinded by the disgusting pile of metal known as "Megaton." I simply cannot have that, and I grow tiresome of the complaints I receive about it. So very tired.

It is unthinkable how such a monstrous pit of piss still stands! I sent my most cunning agent to take care of it for me and what do I find? I find he has failed me! Burke never fails. . .that girl got to him. . . .And here I thought he was immune to the wiles of women? That the flirtatious nature of skirts was above his radar, incapable of exciting any emotion in those cold little slits he calls eyes. Bah! I was wrong. . . .I must be getting soft in my old age. . . . .

Damn that vault dweller! If it wasn't for her then this tower would have doubled its income; indeed, the refugees of that blasted boil would currently be Tenpenny residents. Oh, how I will make that Gemma rue the day she crossed me! Yes. . .time to put that upstart back into her place. . . .

I think it would suit everyone of the wastes if she just "disappeared." I know there are plenty of mercenaries who would be willing to make this happen for me. Caps wouldn't be an issue. Oh no, for I have mounds of caps; I do not want for anything when it comes to money. Yes. I will have Burke see to it that that street rat be dealt with. Indeed. She will understand the meaning of respect once I am through with her. Oh, my dear you really shouldn't have deactivated that bomb. . . .Now that you have I must take the standard course of action. . . .It is time to make a hostile takeover; it is time to swallow another little fish in a great big pond.


	70. Sob Story

*** Hey, General Andrew, inuzuka pau, North American Scum, Nemorian, herMUSiCnotesXo, Defender93, SundayWinterChild, Riven Cole, and Sichu thanks for your support, feedback, and all around awesomeness! I 3 you guys. ;)**

*************

So. . .it's been a little over a week since my delightful break down at the mart. Fuck. That wasn't exactly my finest hour; in fact, I'm just thankful nobody but Charon witnessed it. I sobbed like I was some helpless little brat! And I never sob. Nope. Nada. Never.

I think the last time I let loose the water works was when I was ten. . . . .Heh. Butch Deloria really knew how to push my buttons back in the day (despite being shit for brains.) What can I say? I hadn't developed my thick rhinoceros skin yet.

Hmmm. . .how did it begin anyway? Oh, yeah. I remember. Deloria wanted to play with my beloved rifle, but his idea of asking wasn't exactly kosher with me. You see, he tried yanking it out of my hands. (Yup. You guessed it. Sharing has never been one of Butch's strong suits).

While his hand was on the butt of my gun I did what any smart cookie would do: I kneed him in his goodie bag. . .then I burst out laughing. Humiliated, Butch said the one thing that he knew would break me-----he called me a mommy killer. A murderer. He then said I must've been half monster because rumor had it that I had clawed my way out of her; that I was such an unnatural creature that my very presence had destroyed my mother's insides. I was a disease. An affliction. A plague. Yeah. . .it was something to that effect. . . .

Long story short, I became a snot producing wonder child. I cried for days upon days upon days. I refused to eat. Hardly slept. I swear, dad was beside himself with worry. He didn't know what had happened, but he did know that I was inconsolable.

When the tears finally ceased I made a vow to myself. I pledged that no matter what obstacles I faced, whatever tragedies befell me, or betrayals I may encounter that I would stay resilient. I'd be as strong and brave as Grognak the Barbarian. No man or woman alive would ever break me like Butch had that day. . .and for nine years that had been the case. No tears. No sighs. No weeping. No moaning. No nothing. . . .then the clusterfuck with the vault happened and here we are. . . .

God, I don't even know what brought on my "episode." It just happened. I. . .I couldn't go on anymore. . . .I felt too heavy. Everything that had happened recently caught up with me, sending me into a tailspin of emotions I hadn't succumbed to in the longest time.

Sure, I'd been angry with my father. Hurt even. Sad too. I'd been all those things and more, but I hadn't let anyone else see that. . . .I couldn't. In fact, I shit you not, Amata hasn't even seen that side of me since Butch shouted, "Mommy killer."But, now. . .now the floodgates have opened I guess. . . .Everythings changed. I've changed.

Charon's been pretty good about it all; to be honest, he hasn't even mentioned it. He's just treated me like he always had: indifferent yet respectful (if that makes any sense). As for Dogmeat, that pooch hasn't left my side since I went all to pieces. I love that dog. He really is my rock when I think about it. . . .

Huh. Here's hoping the wastes don't end up eating me alive. After my sob-fest, I'm afraid that it just might. I can already feel a change within myself. I'm. . .I'm not as self assured as I used to be, and I'm also. . .what's the word? I'm harder too. . .in the sense that I can leave people behind. . .but perhaps that's just a façade? Maybe the crying proves the opposite of that fact? Maybe it proves I'm just as fragile as anybody else? That I'm just as vulnerable to the world and the people in it next to any other person? That. . . .That I'm only a nineteen year old girl, scared, tired, alone, and missing her father. . .maybe that's all I've ever been or ever will be? A lost motherless (now fatherless) child with no soft place to land or fall. . .a lone wanderer until the end of my days. Fuck. Sounds like a wonderful existence right?

Yeah. It's my wonderful life folks! My fucking wonderful life. Now, if only the Almighty would send an angel my way to give me some perspective. . .yeah right. . .I'm wondering if He's even listening anymore? I wish he was. Oh, well. Beggars can't be choosers right? But they can be cry babies. That I know for sure.


	71. Mysterious Stranger

*** Defender93, gphoenix51, and Riven Cole I'm glad you liked chapter 70. Here's hoping you like where I decided to go with chapter 71. . . . . **

***********

I value people who like to rattle cages. Always have. Always will. It's these individuals that tend to get the ball rolling; they get those wheels of change unstuck in whatever muck and grime was weighing them down, giving progress it's momentum back.

Currently, I have found myself enamored by one such upstart. . .the Lone Wanderer. For being just a kid I marvel at all that girl's accomplished. In her short time spent outside the confines of Vault 101 she sure has caused quite a stir. Let's review her achievements shall we?

Hmmm. . .for a start she repaired the leaks in Megaton that were springing up every which way but loose. Yeah, and she also resolved that strange predicament in Arefu peaceably (which amazed the hell out of me). I thought that situation was doomed to end in bloodshed, but that goes to show how much I know. One thing I am sure of however is that Gemma is a force to be reckoned with.

Moreover, she is simply prolific. A legend already and she hasn't even been amongst the rest of us for a year! Doesn't that just beat all?

Dear sweet Gemma. . . .If I were to glance at her slender figure, never having laid eyes on her before, I would never have believed that she was a diffuser of atomic bombs, the "savior" of Grayditch, an angel of death to raiders and mercs alike as well as Tenpenny's latest and greatest enemy. That "great" man is demanding her head on a silver platter, and he has the caps to get inspire some pretty dedicated followers.

Christ. If only that bomb _had_ been detonated. . . .but no. Making Megaton disappear wouldn't have solved anything. . . .For too long I was complacent to the welfare of others, believing that the means justified the ends. Somewhere along my way to create a utopia I lost my humanity. . . . .

I suppose I should become reacquainted with the young idealistic man I used to be? Perhaps it is time I donned my old trench coat again, along with all that it once reprsented for me. . . . If for nothing else but to save her. . . .

Sure, Tenpenny is a lightweight, (easy to manipulate and control) but he has some _serious_ backing. Money talks even in post apocalyptic society, you see. Plenty of dubious men and women comply with that old bastard's wishes because that bastard can give them what they desire most----power.

A mountain of currency can make you feel invincible; in fact, if you have an ungodly amount of caps in your possession then you _are _invincible. So, for this shot at supremacy every scumbag shit fuck will (by now) have signed up to execute Gemma. Scumbags like myself.

Heh. I won't kill her though. I can't. She shook me up; she rattled my cage, disturbing my slumber, and released me from the fog of my ambition. The shred of the man I used to be demands that I repay this angel for her services. It's settled: I'll protect her.

In the shadows I'll lurk, following, observing, and then striking down whomever tries to touch _my _girl. From now on, I shall be a stranger to her. By all intents and purposes she'll think of me as she always has: Tenpenny's right hand man. Out on the battlefield however she shall call me "The Mysterious Stranger;" indeed, a guardian angel for my saving grace, my angel, my Gemma.

Yes, I will be her silent protector, guarding the waste's most precious jewel. As the day turns to night, I vow to be the one to stand between her and death; indeed, what could be more glorious than to perish for the preservation of the Lone Wanderer? To make sure her warrior's soul thrives in that fragile body of hers, and that that gentle womanly heart keeps on beating? Mhm. . .as it is, nothing else comes to mind. No, this crusade is worthy of my undertaking because I know that Gemma is the answer-----she is the key to finding the Garden of Eden, and the architect of my redemption.


	72. Weary Wanderer

*** To all my fans, thank you for sticking with me for so long. Here is a long overdue chapter. I promise I am not flaking out on you guys. I do intend to finish this story. Also, kudos to Pale White Shadow for calling me out when I hadn't been updating. You are awesome my friend. Now, to the story! **

Sometimes, I wish this was all a nightmare. That I would wake up, the sheets tangled around me, and my father's snoring reverberating against the steel walls of the vault. Sometimes. . .sometimes I even curse myself for ever wanting to leave.

Before I became a wanderer of the wastes, when I was just plain old Gemma, life was simpler. Way simpler. My only concerns were the Overseer's bullshit restrictions, The Tunnel Snakes epic stupidity, and being pegged as the "sarcastic weird girl." Its funny. Prior to my current clusterfuck of a situation, I remember complaining about the state of my life. It wasn't adventurous enough for me; that and (with the exception of Amata) I thought most of my peers were drooling nimrods. I was so tired of the monotony. All I wanted was freedom; all I longed for was a world where I could be myself.

I mean, shit! Just because I was well read, asked questions, knew how to shoot things, and didn't swoon like an idiot whenever I came in contact with the opposite sex I wasn't considered "cool." I guess I was just too "unique" for the citizens of Vault 101.

Apparently, to be cool you had to be a conformist prick or just a prick. Thank God for Amata. Everyone shied away from her because she was the Overseer's daughter, but I didn't. I think if it wasn't for our mutual loneliness we wouldn't have become such fast friends. As it is I'm glad we did. I took our friendship for granted in there. If only she had come with me. . . .I could sure use a dosage of her awesomeness and humor right about now.

Christ. Out here, swept up in this dust, I am an island. Even more of an island than I was back home. Sure, I have friends but. . .but is it because they genuinely like me or are they all afraid of me? I can't fucking tell. At least beneath the earth, tucked away, I knew where I stood in the scheme of things. I was to be a doctor. Jonas's assistant. I was to grow old and. . .maybe. . .just maybe someone would want me to be their gal. Silly girly-girl crap I know. But. . .but I still dreamt about it all the same. . . .

None of that is important now. Love, if anything, is overrated. I've seen too much out here to think otherwise. (Plus, it's not as if any of the guys I knew would've ever tried to get to know me. I was blackballed un-fuckable material in their books. I had a brain. Shocking.)

Ugh. I'm even beginning to think my parent's affection for each other was simply a fluke. . .or luck. I guess I might be cynical since I've only met raider couples. Who knows? I just feel like romantic love is hidden away from girls like me. Unattainable. Forever out of reach because men want sex and rarely appreciate women that can think for themselves. Yeah, and I refuse to compromise myself in order to be some jerk's fuck-buddy. Sorry, but the horizontal bop isn't everything.

God, why does life have to be so damn hard? Why didn't I value mediocrity when I had the chance? Nope. Instead the world is spinning, while I sink into the muck of Virginia's irradiated soil. . .wishing all this were a dream.


	73. Only Fools Rush In

Ian burst into my office today all atwitter. Before he even opened his mouth I knew the cause of his excitement----Gemma. She had written to him saying that she had some blood packs to trade, so she'd be making an appearance to us, her nocturnal friends.

Amazing how quickly the pupils of his eyes dilated. It almost appeared as though he had the "look"; indeed, it was as if Ian were about to succumb to his baser more animalistic tendencies. . . .Still the look of love can mirror the look of hunger as well, especially when such feelings go unrequited.

If only the lad could forget his admiration for the girl. In the end, closing his heart to her would serve him better than leaving it wide open. Even an exceptional girl like Gemma will find it hard to tame Ian. His nature. . .it will always be there.

Yes, I admit that he has made some great strides since the family and I first encountered him. Through meditation and discipline I have found that Ian has learned to control his appetite for human flesh well. Yet. . .I am afraid that will only take him so far.

His is the most violent case of the hunger that my wife and I have ever come across in our travels. I sometimes worry that his passion for Gemma will overpower his ability to remain calm. If that happens. . .well. . .I don't know if any of us (including Gemma) could save Ian from himself. (Although, that is assuming he doesn't consume Gem while expressing his passion for her.)

How I wish his admiration for her were merely hero worship! Its no surprise it isn't though. She was the first person _not afflicted _with this disease (other than his sister) to approach him unafraid and unflinching. My God, the girl has even _befriended_ him. It would've been a miracle indeed if young Ian hadn't face planted head over feet in his love for her.

Poor kid. There will never be any persuading him to give her up. Heh. Such a suggestion would make him mutiny against the rest of us if anything. Oh well. . .I suppose I'll just have to mentor Ian as best as I can and hope that he's stronger than I take him to be, for there is no one more foolish than a lovesick teenage boy.


	74. Star Shine

It seems James and Katherine's little one yet lives. I am glad. To know that the wastes have not crushed their bundle of joy under the weight of its corruption pleases me greatly. Yes, Gemma is out there somewhere. She is walking, talking, and breathing beneath the same canvas of stars that I find myself under.

I had my doubts about her survival though. . . .After Kat's tragic death, when James took the babe and left, the solider in me considered them done for. Even with his prowess in battle James was still _just _a civilian; furthermore, he fled with an infant which is too small to understand the need to be quiet when traveling. Those of us that had considered James and Katherine friends mourned them and their daughter. I even wore a black band around my arm in honor of their deaths for one solid year.

It is a comfort to know that we were wrong. . .at least, in that respect. I suppose God had sent angels to watch over that baby? He must have. I'd bet my life on it. I'd also bet my life that those cherubs continue to flock around Gemma. They must. Without such other worldly aid I don't know how she could've survived as the "Lone Wanderer" for as long as she has. . . .

Truly miraculous how this girl has thrived amidst such chaos. Alone, abandoned, and lost she has persevered while so many others have failed. Although, I should give credit where credit is due.

Gemma, my dear, _you _come from hearty stock. Your parents were exceptional individuals. Within their souls there burned such a mighty fire; indeed, I saw the flames of it flicker in their eyes. Their desire to help people was so strong that it consumed them while engulfing the rest of us in its blaze.

It was a privilege to serve them Gem. If our paths ever chance to cross I shall impart this knowledge to you. I shall also aid you in your quest. I will be your follower, protector, and also friend. Take care Star Shine. May you stay safe amongst the darkness.


	75. Good Dog

They were on the move again. His master and her friend made up of scraps. Bandage man. Charon. All heading off to find her father; all moving through the desert towards the man who had left the good human girl alone.

Dogmeat followed obligingly. Sometimes he'd run ahead. Sometimes he wouldn't. If ever he did, it was to put himself between his human and danger. Bad smelling green things yelling. Always shouting. Wanting to make his humans bleed.

Others were loud humans with boom-sticks. Some were raiders. Some were all men dressed completely alike. These alike men his master called, " fucktards in uniform." Scrap man called them "Talon Company." Whomever these talon-men were they were mean. Dogmeat thought them about as mean as the large mutants, but not half as smelly.

It had been one whole moon cycle since they had left Megaton. Pretty one "Gemma" said they were heading for The Republic of Dave then Underworld then Rivet City. None of these names meant anything to Dogmeat. He only knew he was for wherever his master was going.

Bad dogs don't mind their masters. Bad dogs wander off. Bad dogs abandon their humans. Bad dogs get their good humans killed. Dogmeat had been a bad dog once and he wasn't about to be one again. This human was his to protect. His to comfort. His to love even on days when she was so tired she wouldn't rub his belly or scratch his ears. She was his.

Gemma and now the undone one. Charon. Who sometimes gave him bits of jerky. Would talk to him about Sally. Would play fetch with him. Would hunt with him. Who smelled of dead things but also smelled of old spice, and whose voice though sharp was friendly. He would also love this man for a dogs capacity to love knows no bounds.

The sun was setting now. His good woman master was making a fire. His other human was cleaning his boom-stick "Sally." Sniffing the air Dogmeat could smell nothing but the acrid stale smell of the wastes. Tonight would be a happy night. No fighting. No blood. No biting. No angry others to try and hurt what was his. Only the campfire, his humans, and some warm baked beans for their bellies. Tomorrow. . .tomorrow would be another story. Dogmeat growled. He'd do what he did best-he'd protect them only like a good dog could.


	76. Rub A Dub Dub

*** Surprise! Surprise! I got off my lazy butt and uploaded another chapter! LOL Thanks to everyone who has stayed with me this long. You all rock. Also, I must thank Riven Cole, MidnightheartXxX, gphoenix51, and Shaykin for your reviews. It's because of fans like you that I keep this fanfiction going! =)**

I stink. Haven't bathed for days. Not like my traveling companions care considering one is a walking talking corpse and the other enjoys rolling around in the desert sand. I mean, pee-yew! It's amazing that none of the wildlife haven't smelt me yet!

Huh. I just realized that the other possibility is they _have_ smelt me and have decided to stay the hell away from me. . . . It's times like these I wish I was somebody else. Anybody else. Even Butch.

Christ on a cross! This Dave guy better have a bath that I can use. I'm not only filthy (with mud pools caking inside of my pores) but I'm also pretty sure I've got a sunburn on my back. Yeah. . .soon Charon and I will be in a skin peeling contest. I may even be so sunburned that passersby will think me sick with rad poisoning; in fact, that would explain why a wastelander hunting party we passed steered clear of us.

Damn this heat and damn my stank and damn my irritated skin! Shit. Here's hoping this Mr. Dave we've got to visit isn't going to be a hostile sack of monkey turds. All I want is a peaceful exchange between myself and the guy. Seriously. No guns blazing this time. No shotgun Sally putting holes in anybody's head. I know that's what Crowley wanted but fuck Crowley. He's one nuka-cola short of a happy meal anyway.

The only reason I'm doing this is because I want to know what "Senior Crazy Ghoul" is up to. I don't trust him. Something about Crowley rubbed me the wrong way; something about him gave me, this girl right here, the heebie-jeebies.

Sweet son of a whore I am spent! The next mile we are calling it a night. I don't care if Charon gives me the whole, "The sooner we reach The Republic of Dave the sooner you get to clean up speech" I'll threaten to cry again. That will make him hella uncomfortable. Oh yeah, I will do the whole lower lip trembling thing along with some well placed sniffles to make my threat seem valid. If anything he'll let me rest for at least an hour. . .or ten minutes. . . .

Whatever happens I do know one thing: I'm getting my bath time and nothing, not even a deathclaw, will get in my way.


	77. Red Letter Days

Its been days since these green fucks caught us. Fucking days. The stench of foul meat, blood, and death permeates the air; the screams of lambs to the slaughter echo off the walls. I claw at my face in revulsion, but it never stops.

I wish I could've gotten a chance to return to Little Lamplight. Those kids deserve to know the _truth_ about Big Town. They deserve to be prepared for what is to come! Instead, they're lied too; lulled into a false sense of security by their sheer naivety to brutality of the wasteland.

Yes my children, no rose garden awaits for you here-only freshly dug graves. Whether such plots be filled with your bodies or your beloved teddy-bear doesn't matter, for your fate is sealed. Yes indeed. Your name shall end up on a wooden marker, a marker for a grave. _Your _grave. In the meantime, your bones will be picked clean by the elements, animals, or by the teeth of a hungry giant. There is no salvation in your adulthood, only despair.

Christ! So many have been killed. So many struck down by sickness. So many lost. Now it is my turn. I am to be shepherded to my death. . . . Please, God don't let it be too long. . . . Let it be fast. . .and let it come soon. . . .

I am spent. Lord am I spent! My body can't endure anymore of this!

I am out of tears to cry and energy to burn. My is voice weak, incapable of uttering words. I think I've strained them. . . . No sound escapes me. I can no more beg for my life than can I shout my friend's name. Oh, I hope he's safe. . .

Shorty. . . .

Remember when we were kids? We'd play together. I'd play doctor (of course) and you. . .you would play the nurse! Ha. Ha. Ha. You in a dress drove Mayor Ringo mad. As mad as a hatter we would say. . . .Ringo. . .Died before he reached Big Town didn't he? Or was he captured? Forced to be a slave. . . . I can't remember. All I know is he never made it into town. . . . Or maybe he's with Alice? Found the portal into Wonderland and is trying to outsmart the Red Queen? Perhaps. . . . I'd like to think so anyway.

Are you in the same hell as I am Shorty? In what part of hell are you damned to haunt? Because I haven't heard your screams lately. . . .

Have they moved you to another cell? One closer to the kitchens? Closer to the pot? Closer to the boiling water? Closer to the stew?

God, I've become morbid. Bittercup and I sure would get along now wouldn't we? Heh. We could swap stories about our bizarre fascination with death, dying, and gruesome executions. Then we could do each others hair. Yeah. . . Whoopee friggin do! Shit. Perhaps I'll even become a ghost girl after this? Wouldn't that be exciting? So Goddamn exciting. As exciting as watching paint dry, paint like spattered blood. . .like the blood on these cells. All the color of crimson; all in the shade of my namesake; all red.


	78. Small Town Living

Behind my house there is this shed. My dad works there most days. I don't know what he does exactly but I do know that it's important, and that one day I'll work there too. I'd like to think my old man was doing government work for President Eden or something. Or that maybe it's regulator type work. Those guys are wicked.

My gut says that my dad does neither of these things for a living. Whenever I've asked my mom all she says is, " You're much too young to understand Junior," and " This topic isn't up for discussion." I think I'm plenty old though. I'm nine or at least I think I'm nine. . . . We really don't celebrate birthdays here. The only ones that matter are your first, tenth, and eighteenth birthdays. It kinda sucks.

Its weird. The town I mean. It's only made up of me, my parents, my aunt and uncle, there stupid daughter Jenny, and grandpa Harris. Nobody else lives in Andale but us. I don't know why. I mean, we're nice enough people and all. Travelers only pass us by though. Sometimes a few do stay for dinner, but then they leave.

The last people that came through here were two teenagers. A boy and a girl. They said that they had eloped. Jenny said that meant they were kissy-kissy with each other. I said it only meant that they were runaways. My cousin is such a loon! And my parents want to make us kissy-kissy? No thanks. I'd rather get hauled off by raiders.

Anyway, the guy Samson and the girl Tina stayed at Uncle Bill's house. Samson was pretty cool. He knew all sorts of stuff about baseball. He even played catch with me a couple times! And Tina was alright. She mostly helped my mother and Aunt Martha do chores. I thought they were gonna stay, but after two weeks of being with us they'd left.

I think Samson argued with my dad over something. . . . I remember hearing their voices one night. . . . They were loud. Dad sounded angry. Like when you talk back or "get smart" with your elders angry. That's never good and I would know because that's the tone he's used on me when I've ticked him off.

Then when morning came, "poof" both Tina and Samson gone. They didn't even say good-bye. . . . Nobody would tell me or Jenny why they'd left. Uncle Bill just said it was time for them to go to greener pastures. He made it sound like they'd died or something.

I wish that they had stayed. I would've liked them to be my neighbors.

Grandpa Harris seemed really sad that they'd left. I think he took a shine to 'em. He didn't come out of his house for days afterwards; shut himself inside with the blinds drawn. Wouldn't even eat with us anymore.

Oh well, adults are funny I guess. They work in mysterious sheds and lock their basements and tell us kids to mind our P's and Q's. Maybe once I'm eighteen I'll understand? At least then I'll get to work in the shed. Hahaha. And all Jenny will get to do when she's eighteen is learn how to make the meat pies for dinner! That's rich. Sucks to be her!

Speaking of pies, all this thinking has made me extra hungry. I wonder if there are any leftovers from last night? I think I'll go see. Yeah, 'cause I could sure use something meaty to fill me up. . . . And you know what else? My mom's pies always do the trick.


	79. First the Worst, Second the Best

Another outsider breeched our defenses again. She claimed she was the "Ambassador of the Wastelands." Ambassador my ass. Sure, the chick's got a nice rack and everything, but she's a woman. Only men hold (or should hold) positions of power; the only thing a woman should be holding is a freshly made sandwich for her man.

But, like the idiot my father is, he falls for this girl's shtick. Says she's free to stay in The Republic, gave her his special "key to the city," and even had Shawna give her a grand tour of the place. What I really find fucker-a-roo-tastic is that my hippie-turd parents let Gemma's decaying sack of zombie shit "Charon" stay with us as well. What the fuck? The guy's a zombie fucknut for balls sake! I mean, shit! Really dad? Really? Well then fuck me with a two-by-four and call me Sir Queers-a-lot.

Fuck. My. Life. No, scratch that. Fuck my father's life. The bastard. With his second wife bullshit, peace be with you attitude, and total disregard for order. He fucking frolics around his "mighty fortress" like some entitled inbred retard, while shirking all of his tactical responsibility onto me. Now, I don't mind being the Second in Command, in fact bring it the fuck on. It only makes my deadbeat dad look like the incompetent fool he is. What I hate is that he is the First in Command.

Let's face it, daddy Dave is a liability to the safety of this republic. He's gullible, has horrible management skills, sucks dick as a leader, and abuses his power constantly. I mean, the main reason he married that whore Jessica is because he wanted making fucking her "legal." Christ I wish I could overthrow him and exile his ass.

One day though. . .one day this settlement will be mine. One day. . . . Until then I'll have to mind my P's and Q's and wait for my moment to come. As it is, I'll settle for being second best.

Perhaps I can persuade this supposed "Ambassador" to help me secure the votes in the next election? Hmmm. . .there's a thought. . . .That or she could kill my dad for me. Heh. Wouldn't that be fucking nice?

But what if that sliver tonged bitch says no? Well, then I'll just have to contend myself with watching Gemma closely. Maybe a cavity search would be in order? Knowing this girl she'd probably like it too. I know I would. . . .Yeah. . . .

The whole thing would be more enjoyable if she agreed to off him though. That cunt deserves to get stabbed in the back. Old bastard that he is. Oh well, I've long since learned that you can't get everything you want sometimes. I'll live with whatever answer I get I suppose. I'm used to it. . . . I'm only "second best" after all.


	80. News Break

*** With this one I had to go look up some Three Dog quotes. As always, anything I used belongs to Obsidian etc. Also, I suggest that you guys should check out Will Freedom's stories. This drabble will make more sense to you if you do that, and it'll prove helpful in the future. ;) Take care mis amigos! **

Hello Capital Wasteland! It is I, Three Dog! As always, I'm ready to soothe your souls with music and give you the what's what happening in our lovely decimated D.C. area and beyond. Now, before I'll get to it, first this announcement:

I've been getting some angry letters from some of you about the way I run this show. Saying I'm being unfair to our "government." That the enclave is doing their best to protect us, and yadda, yadda, yadda. Well, here's my response to that children-Fuck off! If my way of doing things doesn't suite you fine folks then do ol' Three Dog a favor by turning me off. Really. Do it. Because this dog ain't going to lick any man's shoes comprende?

You see, Three Dog has never pandered to anyone; I don't "roll over" when told too, instead I'll piss on that person's lap. I ain't no man's lap dog, ya dig? If you want to be pandered, fed bullshit from a silver spoon, and enjoy being lied to then by all means listen to President douche-schnozzle Eden. Be my guest. With that being said, I'm ready to chew the fat.

So what's everyone's favorite Sentinel been up to? Here's the latest on that sweet kid from Vault 101. Apparently, 101 has been seen on the move towards D.C. and a little birdie told me that our heroine's destination is Rivet City. I guess Daddy James was spotted there a couple weeks ago. Hmmm. . .will father and daughter finally be reunited? This DJ of rock n' roll to save your soul sure hopes so. . . . .

But there are some cats out there who'd wish nothing more than to see our darling Defender brought to her knees. . .like Alistair Tenpenny. Mr. Tenpenny (owner of a certain ghoul hating hoity toity tower for the well to do) recently put a price on our little Wanderer's head. I guess that old geezer didn't like Gemma deep-sixing Megaton's atomic bomb; word on the street is, he tried to bribe our Lone Wanderer into detonating it. Evidently that the man isn't fond of competition.

So what does this mean for 101? It means she better hall ass. Not only does she have scumbag slavers, nasty raiders, and Talon Company Mercs hot on her trail, but she's got the mother of all butt ugly butt fuckers on her trail: The Flamers. These guys are ruthless. Using flame torches to burn people alive, sever limbs, and brand their pray their main drive in life is to cause torment. Seriously, the Lone Wanderer is in trouble if these guys want her head on a platter.

I ask you denizens of the wastes to look kindly on Gemma and her friends. They'll need all the help they can get now. Help her as she's helped you. Offer her food, shelter, or if you're good with a weapon, aid in a firefight. 101 may be our enigmatic Vault Martyr, but that doesn't mean we'll want to see her as a martyr for the wastes. . . . Because most martyrs (if not all martyrs) get that title from dying for a cause by the lowest snakes society has to offer.

Three Dog's thoughts our with ya girl! If you can manage to make it to Galaxy News Radio, drop in, and sit a spell. You're always welcome here Gemma. Keep fighting the good fight! Without further adieu, some music. . . . .


	81. Hail to the Chief

*** I decided to re-tool this chapter. It was much too brief and I felt as if I didn't capture President Eden's essence. I hope this version is better than my last. =) Also, thanks again to all of my faithful redears! I heart you guys! **

This is a great nation. A nation of dreamers, daredevils, and disciplined warriors. A nation built upon the principle that all men are created equal, with certain unalienable rights; a land constructed on the virtues of honor and valor. This is America. She is my home and I am her humble servant.

For her I have risen to the challenge, like a mighty phoenix soaring from it's ashes, I have answered the call of service. I am President of these United States. I am leader of a free mighty world. I am its Chief.

As my forefathers before me, I have sworn to make it my solemn duty to keep this great citadel of freedom impervious to harm. Having taken the oath of office I have dedicated my very _being_ to preserving American interests and ideals. This is why I was given the breath of life: I was meant to lead.

Molded by divine hands to become President, I am committed to make any sacrifice necessary to ensure that our country thrives! I _am _the world's brightest beacon for hope because I am the leader of a _free _world. I am who America relys on in times of strife and in times of joy. She needs me just as much as I need her. Yes, I am her champion in these bleak times of chaos, division, and uncertainty-I am our Lady Liberty's knight in shining armor while she is my Lady in Waiting.

Many years ago the Great War weakened our Lady greatly, leaving deep scars atop her rich supple skin. Like the black plague before it the war spread legions across her body of the most unnatural ghoulish kind. Disgusting beasts hopped up on radiation, transformed by the filth of atomic power, and distorted morally continue to breed and grow. Since I first held the presidency I made one promise to myself, which was to nurse my only love back to health. It is my intention to eradicate all vermin as well as all infection from her person-even if that means losing good solid American lives along the way.

As always, I will have my dissenters. Unenlightened individuals (though allowed to speak their minds) cannot, sadly, see the forest for the trees. These ignorant individuals fail to comprehend that difficult decisions have to be made in one's presidency; indeed, I am sure they would not last a minute inside my shoes before completely breaking under the stress. Sometimes my children things must be offered up for the greater good, and your faith that thy will be done shall be accepted by God. As hard as it is, the lives of the many outrank the lives of the few.

In turbulent times such as these peoples must go without for the greater good. As John F. Kennedy once said, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." Truer words were never said. Hopefully, in time, I can remind the children of this great nation of such words and men, for we cannot move forward if we do not respect our past.

Perhaps when my reign finally ends the unbelievers shall realize I had America's wellbeing at heart? That the decisions they so hated were made to improve our current state of affairs; that I acted with prudence, never wavering in the face of duty. I can only pray this will be so, but, then again, I'd rather be hated for all the right reasons than loved for all the wrong ones.

I am President Eden and I approve this message. God Bless these United States!


	82. Only Human

Thanks to the "I'm the Ambassador of the Wastes" bullshit, I got the information I needed from Dave. He sang like a jailbird on _everything_; he even gave me the key. Now I know why Mister Crowley wanted me to hunt down all these guys. He wants payback. I can understand why. Being left for dead (or worse in his case) in a sealed vault with rabid ghoulies is a pretty grim fate for anyone. Still. . .I can't help but spare Dave. I just couldn't seem to find it in myself to play the executioner.

If anything it seems like Dave was purely scared shitless. He saw the ghouls and the vault doors closing, and he panicked. I mean, who wants to be the one left behind? Who'd want to receive the same shitty fortune as Crowley? And you know what else? I'm sure the other guys felt the same way.

In a situation like that the only thing that really matters to a person is their own survival. Your adrenaline kicks in, your blood pumping faster than its ever pumped before, and your heart beating a million miles a minute. The one thought that keeps replaying like a broken record inside your head is, "Haul ass!" And I would know wouldn't I? For fuck's sake! I mean, I've been shot at more times than I've had hot meals. Its fucking depressing.

So, yeah I understand these deserters pretty well. I guess you could even say that I sympathize with them. Whose to say that I wouldn't have reacted in the same way?

Hell, I might've ran right outta there too. . . . Just left him behind without a second thought. Cold, right? Fuck. I should just start introducing myself like this, "Hello, my name is Frosty the Snow Bitch. What's your name?"God, here's hoping I'd never _actually _do that. I. . .I'd hope I'd try to save whomever it was that was with me, or at least put them out of their misery before I abandoned them. Deep down, I know that's just wishful thinking on my part. . . . .

Huh. Some "Hero of the Wastes" I've turned out to be. Who am I kidding? I'm about as heroic as Butch is brilliant. I'm nothing at all really. I'm just as lost and as confused as I've ever been about what in the balls I am doing.

So much for Three Dog's mighty vault legend. I wonder what our dear DJ would say about all this anyway? I'm betting he'd have a _whole_ lot to say. Yup. It'd probably royally piss him off and he'd start reminding me about the "greater good" again. Sure, I get where the guy's coming from (and I respect him for it) but its one thing to talk a big game, and a completely _different_ thing when your actually in that situation. The wastes are (in my humble opinion) a perfect example of hell on earth. If Beelzebub himself doesn't have real-estate here then slap my ass and call me Judy because obviously I was wrong.

It's. . .it's hard out here. Cutthroat. Desolate. Bleak. I bet if Three Dog wasn't sitting within his musical fortress eating cupcakes laced with jet icing all safe and sound, but on the outside with the rest of us, he'd be whistling a different tune. In fact, I bet he wouldn't be as Goddamn optimistic as he is. I mean, fuck-a-duck! I know _I'm_ not as optimistic as I used to be since becoming a full fledged resident of Capital Shithole. In fact, dollars to donuts I've become more of a bitchy pessimistic fucktard than I ever was before I got here.

God, Amata would just "love" the new and improved Gemma. Psh. Yeah right. That girl thought I was already gloomy enough to begin with! If she was to spend a minute with the new me now she'd be at her wits end; in fact, I'd bet 20 caps Amata would be pulling her hair out in frustration because of my negative attitude. Heh. I can just picture her saying, "Snap out of it!" Then she'd smack me upside the head in annoyance just like in the good ol' days. . . .

God, I miss Amata as much as I miss my dad I think. She was more than my friend, or even my best friend. . .she was like family. It was like we were sisters, you know? I wonder how she's doing? Got everything running smoothly as always probably, unlike me. Nothings run smoothly for me since I escaped.

Always one step behind my father or everybody's damn errand girl, and don't get me started on what a clusterfuck this project purity has made everything! Yes, I realize it's a great breatkthrough. Purified water for everyone? Sure! Why not! Hells yes! Sign me up! But there is also apart of me that resents it. . .resents it because my father left me for it. Thanks to his work, I became an orphan of the wastes. Shit-burgers why does everything have to be so complicated? I just don't understand. . . . . I hope one day I will. . . . .

I mean, shit! I _better_! At some point in my life all of this searching, loneliness, and heartache _needs_ to be worth it. Jesus Christ it has to!

I've. . .I've aged a decade since the sun hit my face for the first time, although I'm only flirting with twenty. I'm tired! So tired. . .and all I want is a happy ending. Call me naïve, but I keep searching for that. Funny isn't it? Searching for happiness when all you find you can relate to is misery?

Yeah, life is one big ironic shitstorm after another. Its endless toil and acid rain on your birthday. Damn. . .and you know what else? I'd have probably left Crowley behind too. I know I would have and. . .and that's why I can't shoot em' in the head. . . . .

That's why I can't avenge that ghoul because I'm no better than his betrayers. (That and Crowley gives me the heebie-jeebies). But, really, I'm no better than anyone else out there. I'm a sinner like all the rest, and I'm just as scared of dying as anything. Heroic I'm not. Flawed? Definately. So take that Three Dog! For being so "wordly" you have it _all _wrong for I'm only human at best, and a sorry excuse for one at that. . . . .


	83. Widowed

Its been months since that fateful night. . . . She saved me. Not many people know that. Sometimes I wish she hadn't; sometimes I wish that death had enveloped me in its great big dark arms instead of the alternative. Sometimes I hate her for her act of heroism. Hate her for being my rescuer. Hate her for her father's leaving. Hate her for O'Brian's crack-shot aim that stole away the only man I have ever (or will ever) love. Other times. . .other times I'm grateful to her. . . sullen but grateful.

Its hard to express the torrent of emotions which I seem to feel on a daily basis. I go from being euphoric to being downright depressed (or suffering from, "a serious case of the blues" as Tom would've said). Tom. . . .

If O'Brian had shot me then I would've been with _him _in perpetual light instead of being stuck inside this damn vault's perpetual darkness. In the end, Tom got his wish in a way. He got freedom. I did not. Life is my prison cell but one I rejoice being trapped in, yet angry that I exist in. Confusing right? I seem to make absolutely no sense at all. My husband would be laughing at me right now for this rant. He'd be laughing, smiling, and shaking his head in that cute way he does whenever I amuse him. Something he will do no more-something I wish I had never taken for granted.

Nobody smiles like he does. No one talks to me in that low sing-songy voice like he used to. And there isn't a single person in this big hunk of metal that can dance like he could. How he danced! As light on his feet as I imagine a fairy prince would be; his nimble toes barely making contact with the floor as he twirled me around the room. My Tom. . . .

Dead now. Deader than dead can be. His corpse was incinerated long ago. I asked if I could keep the ashes, but I was (of course) denied. It also didn't help that people thought I was one brick short of a load for asking such a request either.

Was it so wrong that I wanted some part of him? Because the Overseer in all of his "glory" decided to confiscate the deceased's goods. He said it was to be evidence in Gemma and her father's trial if they ever returned to the vault. Evidence? Really? No. More like he took our loved ones things to lock them up and throw away the key, so he could go on pretending that that night never happened. So he can keep on believing that those involved never died or even existed to die. So he can pretend that he is like God. That he is infalliable. A supreme ruler of us all without error. And you know what? I hate him for it.

If not for his bizarre behavior as our leader then Tom never would've wanted to leave. I believe that. It was Alfonse whom made this place unbearable. It was Alfonse and his low life security squad that enforced ridiculous curfews on us. It was he and not Gemma or her father which drove my beloved to run for the exit. He said that it was our chance. Our one chance at a life outside the walls of 101 where the skies were the bluest blue and the people the master's of their own fates. He was quite poetic my Tommy. His way with words didn't save him from a bullet wound to the chest though. . .and neither could Gemma.

A cold place in my stomach lurches whenever I recall her hands on me, jerking me away from him. She wouldn't let me go near Tom as he lay like a rag doll on the cold ground. Instead, she allowed O'Brian to finish him. I know I was hysterical; probably more than she could handle. I just. . .I can't bring myself to forget how she just watched. After I could know longer hear the ragged breathing of my beloved, Gemma fired her BB gun at O'Brian wounding him in the leg. He fled. The bastard. She said something to me like, "I'm sorry" and she left too. Left me alone to cry over the corpse of what was once a wonderful man. . . .

Its funny how I thought thinking about this would help me, but it hasn't. None of it has. Just opened up old wounds. I'm with the resistance now. Not for her but for him. For my Tom. I hope Gemma never returns. . .because I honestly don't know how I'll react to her presence. I'll either hug her or stab in the back, and I don't know if I could live with myself for doing either.

But, what I do know is this: vengeance will be mine. I'm going to crush Alfonse if it's the last thing I do, along with that spineless snake O'Brian and his merry men. I'm going to open up this vault for the others, and I'm going to do that in memory of the man that is no longer with me. For you Tommy. I'll do it all for you.


	84. Nightwatchman

Its been slow going getting our asses to Rivet City. What with the constant barrage of mercs on our tails it's a miracle the kid and I get any rest at all. Tenpenny sure has it out for Gem. He is one spiteful leathery old bastard (and I would know leathery considering the state my skins been in this past century or so).

Heh. But, ya know what? Somehow I find this whole situation funny in its own fucktarded way. Of all the people to be scared of Gemma, it's the one guy who rules the wastes with an iron fist! I mean, fuck me! To be Mr. Big-shot himself and to tremble at the thought of a nineteen year old girl is goddamn hilarious. Makes the fucker look like a complete asshole in my opinion. Like an old overweight whore whose forgotten how to ride her customers disco stick. He's losing his machismo. Well, what little that prick had of it anyway.

Maybe Tenpenny wants her and me and the dog dead because it'll make the old fart feel in control again? Yeah, that's part of it I think. But he's been declining for years now. Not the young man he used to be is he? Nope. More of the zombie variety. Anciently wasting away while growing fat in the waist.

His world is crumbling. He knows its all going to shit. His followers being people (and people being the fickle fucks that they are) have been shifting their loyalty to the Lone Wanderer; to Gemma they flock like a radscorpian to its freshly bleeding prey. Some because they think she's powerful, while others because (thanks to Three Dog) they see her as some sort of savior. An angelic hero I guess. . . I don't really fuckin' know. To me she's just Gemma. A kid looking for her dad.

Right now Dogmeat is cuddled up by her feet while Gem sleeps. I'm awake taking the first watch of the night. Hell, she needs the sleep more than I do. At least we've got this abandoned shack to stay in; in fact, its more like a ramshackle cabin than anything else. From what I can tell, the family that owned it had some sorta falling out before the big bomb fell causing everything to go KABOOM! So says the tape left behind anyway. Hmmm. . . .I wonder if the Keller's ever did reunite and make it to safety before Hell froze over? Guess I'll never know the answer to that one. Whatever. Not like it concerns me or the kid.

Its nice to see her looking so rested. Those Talon Company jerks have been riding us hard. Well, not as hard as those butt fucking psychos The Flamers. Jesus Christ! Their bombardment never ends. . . . The only thing keeping us alive I think is pure luck. Thank God or Zeus or whatever higher power for that.

My only hope is Tenpenny's goons lay off for awhile. Not that that's likely to happen but we saw storm clouds heading into this place, and storm clouds means acid rain for the wastes. Not that I mind acid rain at all. (I can even dance in it like Gene Kelly). My point is there ain't gonna be any movement for my smooth skinned friend here, or her faithful four legged dog, until the sun's beating down on us again. Unless Gemma wants to become a ghoulie like yours truly which I can't ever see happening.

Damn! I think I hear movement outside. Fucking Tenpenny. Shit. Time to wake sleeping beauty up. She's going to curse me out like some swarthy sailor for it too. Well, isn't that just fucking dandy? But I'd rather her be pissed at me than dead. . . .

Hey Zeus, (or whatever) if you're listening, send some help, okay? We could really use a guardian angel or some shit like that. Lucky as we might be, it'd be even better if we had another gunman to back us up. Think You could oblige "Oh, Mighty Mighty One?"

Fuck. Who am I kidding? There aren't any mysterious gunslingers or strangers out there to come to my rescue or hers. There's only the predators lurking outside, primed to fire at us. Oh well, the sooner I wake Gemma then the sooner we can live to fight another day, and then maybe I can get some sleep too. . . . Wishful thinking I know, but that's all I've got these days. That's all any of us has got really. . .wishful thinking . . .and a dream to see our father's someday. . .I guess. For now, we gotta forget making wishes and prepare to take action. Its time Gemma was roused from her beauty sleep; and its time I was allowed some rest from being the nightwatchman.


	85. Penitent

I watched them from my perch 100 ft away. I knew that those yao guai pheromones would come in handy someday; the beasts have just accepted me as one of their own because I smell the same, so I can rest in this cave with them a safe distance away from her. It also proves as a wonderful surveillance spot. The wastes sprawling out before me as far as the eye can see. The enemies of my muse are unable to sneak past me undetected.

They tried a few days ago. Idiots thought they could ambush Gemma and her motley crew, but that ghoul of hers proved far too formidable for them. He could discern their soft footsteps within the walls of the shack he and Gem were holed up in. I suppose not all ghouls are worthless. . .at least not this manservant.

Amidst the firefight that ensued, I kept my profile low. I moved within the shadows, using my surroundings to my benefit. I became the noiseless assassin of my youth, killing my opponents dispassionately, efficiently, and silently. Men and women alike whom dared raise their guns against the waste's fairest of creatures soon found themselves riddled with gunshot wounds; soon found themselves dead-meat. Ah, _my_ rattler of cages. _My_ heroine. _My _unapologetic wanderer. _My _Gemma. . . .

She is an unusual specimen. One doesn't usually find someone of her caliber amongst the rabble of the apocalyptical masses. I believe in this wisp of a girl; this fiery wisp that has ignited too many emotions within myself to count. She may have known me as Burke, but after awhile she'll know me by another identity.

Someday soon, she will come to recognize me as a friend of hers. I will be her guardian, her last line of defense when the odds are stacked against her; I shall be the Grim Reaper to her adversaries. With the barrels of my guns fully loaded, I plan to execute the riff-raff that intend to shed such sacred blood as hers onto the irradiated soil. Such imbeciles, too foolish to realize that they're trying to murder the waste's last hope, deserve to be snuffed out. These vermin _must_ be eradicated. For _her_. For _always_.

As for the time being, I shall remain hidden. Once enough skirmishes have passed between us I shall then reintroduce myself to her; bowing at her feet I'll ask the ethereal Gemma to forgive me of all my past wrongs. If she will not, I am prepared to let her slay me. . .and I shall forever be a mysteries stranger to her. A man without an identity besides that of what he hates the most-that of a villain and not of a hero.

But I must repent! I _must. _If I can only prove to her that with each body that falls my soul becomes brighter and I, myself, become anointed by the blood of her enemies because they are _my_ enemies. That I have been one baptized by fire; that I am no longer the man I used to be, but I am the man that in my idyllic youth I always intended to be. Hopefully, Gemma shall believe in all of this when we meet, for the first time, as equals and as friends.


	86. Rain Rain Go Away

*** I wanted to apologize to my readers for the lack of updates. I've been so caught with other projects and things that I neglected Wasteland Perspectives. I am sorry for this. I will try to post more chapters more frequently from now on. Thanks for sticking with me and Gemma this far. Your support is appreciated. Thanks guys. =)**

So far its been raining for the last four days. The good news is that it keeps any ambushes and wild animals away. Thank God for that. What I'm not too grateful for is the waiting and the silence. There are only so many card games a girl can play with Charon and only so much small talk before you want to blow your brains out. (That and I swear the bastard cheats at cards).

Currently Charon and Dogmeat are sleeping. Charon on the cot, while my four legged friend finds solace curled up by Charon's feet. I am on watch. . .not that it makes any damned difference. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing will happen. Nothing to do or report until the stupid-ass acid rain stops raining and the sun appears making the wastes as desolate and fucking hot as usual.

I never thought I'd say this but I miss the heat. . . . I guess it just never occurred to me what rain in post-apocalyptic society would mean. Yeah. . . . It means radiation. . . .

Hey, I never said I was the brightest bulb in the bunch okay? Rain equaling rad poisoning just slipped the contents of my mind. Of course, unlike most people my age, I've got some other more pressing matters rattling inside this noggin' of mine. There's the Project Purity debacle, my father being M.I.A, and trying to hide from douche bags that want to collect a bounty on my head. I still don't know why I'm being hunted, but I blame Three Dog. His " Lone Wanderer" bits on the radio make me sound like some sort of do-gooder vigilante when, really, I'm just trying to get by like everyone else.

Hmmm. . . I think the next time I see my dear friend at GNR I'll thank him for the weapons cache and then promptly call him a fucktard. I think that would only be fitting. Plus, the look on his face should be priceless. That's if Charon and I can ever leave this shack again. . . .

I hope our story ends better than that of the family that once owned this place. From what I can gather from old recordings and what-not they all had a falling out, and were planning to meet at some fallout shelter. I think it was military. . . . Something tells me they all ended up turned to ash like so many during that awesome day in history.

I really don't want to be obliterated in any shape or form. I'm going to be honest here: its just not my thing. Not that I wouldn't mind having my own "thing." Something other than this quest to find my father.

It's like. . . Like sometimes I feel as though this life isn't my own anymore; that the weight of the world is on my shoulders and I'm being slowly crushed by it. I desperately want the life I had before. The one I so often complained about. I honestly didn't know how good I had it in that vault. I thought the life as my father's protégée, stuck inside 101 with the likes of Butch Deloria would be a slow painful death. This existence. . .this vagabond lifestyle is much worse. . . .

God, my eyes are heavy. So is my breathing. I know I should be on guard duty, but really what's the point? All I want is to fall asleep and wake up back inside my quarters in the vault, instead of finding myself back here waiting for the rain to stop and my life to be mine once again.


	87. Day Dream Believer

The rain's been making everything so _boring_. Can't go outside 'cause I might get rad poisoning. Can't play ball in doors 'cause I might break something. Can't watch the superheroes fight 'cause they aren't fighting. Can't see Machete 'cause she's locked away in her own house. Can't visit my buddy Ralph 'cause he's way out in the Republic of Dave, which (like here) is getting drenched with rain. . . .

When it first started to pore I tried to slip out the back, but my Uncle Roe caught me by the arm and asked me "What the blazes do you think your doing boy!" I simply said I was trying to get superhuman powers; what better way to get ripped then by some minimal radiation poisoning, right? My uncle didn't get it though. He just sent me to my room, along with a medical dictionary we've got lying around, so I could study the effects of getting what some people call the "ghoulie syndrome." He even made me write a paper about the effects of rads. The whole thing was pretty lame.

I mean, yeah. . .I guess I could've turned into one of those living corpses, but what if I hadn't? What if, instead, I became something great like the AntAgonizer or the Mechanist? What if I got some special abilities out of the whole deal? I wouldn't be just Uncle Roe's nephew anymore. Even Machete wouldn't be able to deny the awesomeness of that. I know she would've at least paid more attention to me in the long run.

I just wish I could get my chance at glory. Both the Commons' resident heroes were once ordinary, plain, and weak then BAM! Fate intervenes to cause the Mechanist and the AntAgonizer herself to become the stuff of legends. I just wish fate would do the same for me too. Sooner rather than later I hope.

Its. . .its only that a "super" me wouldn't be afraid of anything or anyone. I could be brave then; I could thwart raiders and slavers whenever they tried to hurt someone. I'd never break a sweat and I'd always be victorious in a fight. The bad guys would fear the mere mention of my name 'cause they'd know that Derek Pacion means business.

I'm not super though. Instead, I'm a fifteen year old jerk whose only family is an uncle that demands you stay inside when it showers. I'm the boy who never gets the girl 'cause the girl doesn't need any saving. I'm the weakling that couldn't save his parents 'cause he got too scared to react when it came right down to it. I'm as average as average can be when I only want to be_ extraordinary_, and it sucks. Life** sucks**.

The only highlight is seeing my idols up close and personal; my only relief is pretending (if only for a second) that I can be just as amazing as they are. For Christ's sake! If _only_ Uncle Roe had let me run in the rain! I mean, then I wouldn't have to dream so much about a better life and a better me. . . I could've been actually doing something other than dreaming, like. . .I don't know. . . **living** my dream. Yeah, wouldn't that have been something? But that didn't happen. This is my life and its as ordinary as ordinary gets. Day dreams can't save me from this monotonous nightmare. No matter how hard I try, I always find that I'm still a nobody of the wastes, destined to die unknown and scared like my parents. Not much of a future is it? Yeah, its not much of anything at all. . . .


	88. A Wish For Happy Endings

*** Just wanted to thank all of my readers and reviewers for sticking with this story. You guys are the best! Thank you for your unending support! =)**

I know where to find the G.E.C.K. now. Vault 112 should have it. God willing, I'll find the kit without much difficulty. The entire fate of Project Purity rides on my success in this or failure. . .and I _refuse_ to fail.

So much has already been lost in my pursuit for clean water; the love of my daughter being the biggest loss of all. I cannot disappoint now that I have come so close to victory. Not now, when I know a better tomorrow can be had.

Oh, my sweet little girl, understand that I did this for you, for the wastes, and for the future of mankind. I left you out of love. I abandoned you for a time, so I could do right by you and your mother. My Gemma. . . .

My little heroine it seems. According to Three Dog, you have become the "hero of the wastes" and a "Lone Wanderer." You are a seeker of justice in an unjust world; a beacon of hope for the hopeless. You are the capital's risen savior and redeemer. Your mother would've said we chose your namesake well.

Each night I tune into GNR to hear tales spun about your bravery, kindness, and perseverance in the face of adversity. Knowing that you're doing well helps keep me going. I just wish I could see you. . . . If only there was more time. . . .

Each time Three Dog beseeches me to reach you I find my heart clench inside my chest. I simply can't do it; I cannot bring you into this mess. Its too dangerous, and by the sounds of it you've got enough on your plate as it is.

I hope you are still doing well Gem. Regrettably, I no longer have a radio. The one I carried with me got stolen in Rivet City, and now I try to get news from passing wastelanders. None are too helpful (those that usually are turn out to be slavers or raiders).

Soon though. . .soon it will be over. I'll come find you once the project is up and running. Dr. Braun is the key to all of this and so is his precious machine. The G.E.C.K. shall save us all kiddo. I promise it will.

I love you Gem. Stay vigilant against the harshness of the wastes. Stay true to yourself. Trust that all shall be alright in the end. This unfinished business of mine is close to being finished. Someday, I will hug you once again; I'll tell you how proud I am of you and make you roll your eyes at me saying, "It was nothing dad." Someday Gemma. . . .someday you, me, and your dear mother will be able to find peace. Our happy ending is coming kiddo. Our happy ending is coming. . . . .


	89. Dithering Around

They all call me crazy. Think its because of my old age. How wrong they are. My neighbors are the crazy ones. Fools the lot of them. Can't see past their own noses. Don't they remember their lives before this place? Before Tranquility Lane and all those other damn simulations Dr. Braun put us through? I guess it takes age and wisdom to realize such things. . .or maybe heartache.

I was supposed to come here with my husband Ralph. There was rioting going on outside the entrance so when the doors opened he pushed me inside, and used his body as a shield for me. The stupid fool. My stupid fool. . . .

Because of my beloved's heroism (among that of others) I was one of the few "test subjects" that actually made it inside vault 112. I suppose it was always meant this way; part of me thinks Vault Tech planned the riots, so there wouldn't be any interruption for their experiments. This reasoning makes sense to me. Have a smaller number for testing and your chances at a revolt go down in size. You know, I wouldn't put it past Braun or his fellow researchers. All of them were corrupt bastards, out for themselves.

At first, all of us were aware that we were in what the good doctor called the, "paradise program." Our stints within the virtual reality headsets weren't supposed to be long term; in fact, they were supposed to be sporadic so we could eat, sleep, and do whatever else we needed. However, that didn't last long. After about three months into our vault stay Braun changed. He became paranoid about us plotting against him and his "godlike" technology. We were all sedated by force (thanks to his wonderful robots) and then placed into our virtual hell indefinitely.

No one else remembered but me. I don't really know why that was. Maybe it was the memory of my dead husband, of the life we had built together, that kept me going? I suppose I couldn't stand to lose the memory of him or of the love we shared. Whatever anomaly has kept me aware I'm grateful for it. Yes, its like a curse to know what that sadist Braun is doing, but its also a triumph. I smile each time that small pathetic excuse for a human being tries to toy with me and gets nowhere. He's yet to break me. Not really.

Some day (hopefully some day soon) a lone wanderer might chance upon this place and cut the cord. Death would be such a release. . . . Then Dr. Braun could face his Maker and face judgment for his obscene actions. I swear, the man takes pleasure in torturing us his "guinea pigs." What's worse is now he's hiding behind the face of a little girl named "Betty." Its disgusting to hide behind the face of innocence. Not to mention, Betty's face is an exact replica of of a deceased little girl we all used to know. Bastard.

Betty, you see, is the spitting image of the Rockwell's long dead daughter Maggie. The little one died while trying to be put under sedation. Never made it through the process. I'm sure Braun relishes using her face; I swear, sometimes, Janet recognizes her child's face. There are moments of clarity for her among the haze of Tranquility Lane and, also, for Roger her husband. Whenever they look at Braun's cheap rendition of an angel, whenever they speak to "Betty," small looks of tenderness as well as pain cross their faces. Such clear moments rarely last for them though. I suppose its easier to accept this reality than the one we all used to share as a unit.

For the time being, I'll live within this vacuum of sorrow. I'll continue being the crazy old lady, but I can weather this storm. I've faced worse hardships in my long unnatural lifetime. What the good doctor doesn't know, doesn't accept or understand, is that all things must come to an end. Even "paradise" itself will rot away leaving nothing behind but silence, and the stillness of time. If I've survived two hundred years of this I can survive two hundred more, for I know death visits all men. He'll even visit me someday. . . someday real soon, God willing.


	90. Antsy

The filth of this place. The absolute filth. All these disgusting abominable meat-bags walking around, oozing of sweat and grease. Every single one of them an eyesore; scabs amongst the already scarred earth. None of them deserve to breath the same air we do. None of them.

Oh, how I rage at the thought of that damn mechanic trying to kill my precious children! What right do his humanoid hands have to touch, mangle, and warp such fragile insects? No right. No right whatsoever. This fool actually demands retribution, not for his fellow fleshy neighbors, but for his machines. How pathetic.

When it comes to heroes this one's a zero. Grognak would wipe the floor with this moronic buffoon. Protector of his own kind? Bah. More like a miserable man in a ridiculous outfit with a serious hard on for artificial intelligence and cold steel machines. If he wasn't pestering myself or my family then I wouldn't even be concerned with his existence.

This dolt simply needs to disappear along with the rest of mankind. Each day their bodies continue stinking up the atmosphere; each night they thrust hips producing more of their vile offspring. Such thoughts make me burst with righteous indignation. Why should they live on? Wasn't it their fault that destruction reigned down upon the land, engulfing the world within a toxic haze? Wasn't it because of them that everything lush and beautiful was turned into irritated craters?

Useless the lot of them. Ants have no need for these two legged abominations. We know they are weak and because of this weakness they are dangerous. Mother Earth would be glad to be rid of such creatures. I only wish I could eradicate these pests in one fowl swoop. How lovely it would be if I could send each of my fellows into the fray to rise up against the meat walkers! To burn and bite and crush them into oblivion would be the sweetest sight imaginable! If only. . . .

Instead we creatures of the soil are regulated underground. We bide our time though. Patiently we await the ideal moment to unleash our vengeance; we count the minutes until their day of reckoning arrives, so we can shower our victims in hues of crimson red. Such deliciousness will have never been seen before! My appetite is wetted by the thought of it.

My parents would be so proud. . .parents? No. These are nothing more than waking dreams come to life. I had no parents; I am the offspring of the Queen Ant herself. I am a worker drone whose soul purpose is to fight against the swine that is man. I am perfect for I am an ant. I was never. . .Tanya. . . .

No. Not a girl. Not a girl. Not anymore. Fleshy meaty man and woman dead who named her that. . .that Tanya. Little blonde thing is dead too. Wiped out when the ants came marching two by two. Rightfully exterminated. I live. We live. Humanity will soon crumble and be no more. Ants shall dominate this wasteland. All of us shall rise, consuming the fatty tissue of our human overloads. Soon enough too. I can feel it. Tanya can stay a corpse while I feast.


	91. Worried Mind

The rain has ceased. Finally. Good old Capital Wasteland is back to its usually acrid dusty hot as Hades self. Whoopdie-friggin do. Beats the acid downpour though.

Nothing like taking a stroll during a toxic rain storm. You'll feel oh so refreshed with the meat beginning to rot off your bones due to rad poisoning. Talk about your rapid weight loss. I know a few ladies back home that were so vain they'd consider risking ghoulification just to appear "slimmer." It takes the old adage "beauty is pain," to new morbid heights.

Maybe I should share these thoughts with my personal bodyguard? It might wipe that scowl off Charon's crusty gritted face. He may even (dare I say it) laugh? That'd be something to see. Of course, then I might think he's been replaced by a pod person and that'd be just one more worry on top of a slew of other worries I already have to worry about. No thanks.

Lately, the guy's been a literal pistol. The littlest things set him off into one foul grumpy ass mood. I've dubbed him "Sir Sourpuss of Grumpsville." I think it's a fitting title. He told me to go fuck myself.

I'm thinking my tough as nails traveling companion is missing the quiet of the shack. The ever persistent mercenaries are starting to take their toll on us. Fuck knows I'm as tired as prostitute on a busy Friday night; getting no sleep, rest or solitude only unwanted companionship that never ever leaves me any tips.

Still, its better to be doing something than nothing. All that waiting around was making me claustrophobic and antsy. My mind would always be with my father, wondering how he was fairing out in this mad mad mad world.

The truth of it is if I'm without a purpose then I'm without any spirit. I found my will to fight depleting at the Keller's rundown shanty. The inaction made me feel so damn useless. My body felt like a heavy immoveable stone statue; I couldn't find my "get up and go" energy, and was finding I didn't care too. That indifference to everything started to scare me shitless.

A girl like myself needs a purpose. Give me a mission to see me through the current insanity that is my life. It would seem that purpose is finding my father. Hopefully, I'll find something else (something to fuel my fire like Project Purity fuels his) to keep me going instead of sinking.

Tomorrow we should be close to reaching the halfway point to Rivet City. Well, if all goes well and doesn't get cocked up by raider ass-ninja fuck monkeys that is. For now, I plan to keep my eyes on the horizon line. It's something to focus on until nightfall hits and I'm left sleepless once again.


	92. Ready Steady

*** A quick thanks to all of my fans and reviewers out there, especially to LithograPhox! You've been really helpful with your comments and I promise I'll fix my little faux pas once I get a chance to. Once again, thanks for sticking with me guys. I know my updates haven't been as speedy as they used to be. I do intend to finish this though. Any-who, hope you all like this next chapter. Tried to make it a long once considering how short the last few entries have been. ;)**

Place has been batshit crazy lately. Even more so than usual. Damn Amata's like a fucking monkey on my back; all the time she goes on and on about the resistance. That harpy must think I don't follow her. Goddamn priss. I fuckin' listen okay? I got ears and shit for fuck's sake. Damn. I get it! Opening our fuckin' vault is numero uno on our list. I got that info on the first day I signed up for this gig. For fuckin' fuck's sake!

Butch ain't no idiot tard okay? I may look stupid, but I know what's what. I want this goddamn shitty ass tomb opened just as much as she does. I want to get the hell outta this place as fast as I can. I'd like it if it had been open since like yesterday. Make my life a hell of a lot easier.

Once these doors open then I'm giving home sweet home the finger. Hells yes I am! Gonna shout, "Sayonara suckers!" Gonna leave this lame ass place far behind me, along with all the douches in it.

Bye Amata! Have fun being a stuck up bitch. See if ya can't get one of the guys to give ya a good dicking. Fuck knows you could use one.

Bye Ma! I'll make sure to write. (Ha. Fat chance of that). More like I'm gonna leave her alone to drink herself to death. Only fitting. Not as if she'd care to see me go anyways.

Bye Overseer! Hope ya rot in your own shit someday. Worthless cunt bastard. Hope you and your fuckin' limp dick security squad get what's coming to ya. Fuckers.

Yeah, and I'd save the best good-bye for last. To Rhonda, my best girl: Fuck you toots. Fuckin' best girl my asshole. More like the vault's resident twat. I mean, that chick's gotten to be one brick short of a fuckin' load lately. Fuck me. Whatever damn radroach crawled up her rump can stay there.

All Rhonda does is bitch at me. She's always sayin' how in "love" I am with Gemma or talkin' about marriage crap or making pot shots about my cock. Just 'cause I don't feel like pounding her pussy every goddamn night she thinks I'm bored. Fuck, maybe a little, but shit! I'm tired most fuckin' nights. Got all this secret Tunnel Snake rebel stuff to do. What the fuck she thinks I'm doing? What? Sexing up somebody else? I fuckin' wish. I don't have the time or the energy or the libido or whatever for that. I'm too damn fuckin' tired. She's fuckin' shit for brains that one.

Baby girl think I don't know squat. Fuck. _Everybody_ thinks I don't know squat. I do though. I pay attention to things just feckin' fine thanks. Fucktards.

I know about Rhonda. That chick hasn't been able to keep her legs closed since she knew what her pussy was good for. Little Miss thinks she's all sly about it too. Heh. It's a small ass vault, like I'm not gonna know who bones her. See? She is shit for brains.

I'd have left her long ago, but she's just always been there. Free pussy ya know? She was nothin' but a good time (and not even that anymore).

Been unclasping Rhonda's bra since we were thirteen. Been neckin' her since before then. Why? 'Cause it was easy; she was easy. Not 'cause I loved her or anything. Fuck no. How can a guy love somebody so damn clingy and that much of a slut? Yeah, it can't be done. You just put up with that chick until you're tired of their bullshit. Wanna know something? I'm fuckin' tired as tired can fuckin' be right now.

My Ma's gonna be all sorts of upset about me leavin' Rhonda behind. I find it kinda insulting that she thinks Rockin' Rhonda's the best I can do. Like she's my only chance at anything or some shit like that. Fuckin' nice Ma. Don't she know shit? I'm the Butch Man. I'm gonna have all sorts of wet and ready ladies flocking to me out there. Fuck yeah I am!

Those two can go ahead and bond over their shared hatred of men. (Probably me in particular). They'll get drunk off their ass and say how I'm a good for nothin' jack hole or some shit. They can do that all they want too 'cause I won't be here to listen to 'em. I'll be gone.

Maybe I'll hook up with Gemma? See what the old girl's doin' if she doesn't return before we get these damn doors open. Amata said she's got an emergency radio broadcast going. I guess she figures Gem will be the one to save us all. I figure Amata's stalling 'cause she don't know what the hell she's doing. Either way, I'd like to see that brainiac again. I miss her smart mouth, the way she rolled her eyes, and how she'd laugh at me. It was never a mean sounding laugh neither. Kinda reminded me of bells.

I kissed her once. Nobody but her daddy knew that. Fuck was he angry! Threatened me and everything. It was pretty damn funny. It wasn't like Gemma cared anyways. She just stood there afterwards; I guess she thought my boozehound persona wasn't sexy.

I'd been out drinking. Was so damn wasted that I thought visiting the girl that I hated and hated me was a good idea. Knocked on that pip-squeaks door until she opened it in a huff. Her face was all flushed from exhaustion and those eyes of hers were as big as saucers too. My brain said, "Kiss her stupid," so I did. Must've done it 'cause I was horny, tired and not thinking right or something. Either way, I did it. Planted a big old smooch on Gemma's small lips. It was nice. . . .

Her lips tasted like cinnamon. It tingled. Made me think how Rhonda never tasted like anything. Before I could do anything Gemma just smirked at me. She told me I was confused and that she wasn't my girl. I stumbled off, acting like I didn't care. I didn't either. Still. . . . It would've been alright if she'd said anything else afterward. Anything. Like she liked it too. . . . I don't fuckin' know. The point is: I gave Ms. Perfect her first kiss. Heh. Eat that.

Fuck me. Looks like Rhonda's here to yell at me some more. Fuck. Guess I'll take another drag off my cigarette then go meet her. She is my girl for the moment. Won't be for long though. I'm ready for the Wasteland and for a different kinda girl. Shit. I've been ready for it since the night Gemma left with my jacket. This snake's ready to slide on outta here; I'm gonna slither onto bigger and better things baby. You just wait world. I'm gonna show ya all what the Butch man is made of. Even you Gemma. Even you.


End file.
